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It had come as no surprise, when he discovered that Xingqiu was his soulmate.
Perhaps that was arrogant of him, to assume that someone as beautiful and graceful as Xingqiu was fated to be his, to believe, from the start, that this precious gem belonged in his arms, that no one else would ever be worthy of him— not that even he was, but the way that Xingqiu looked at him, the way strings seemed to tug him towards the boy, the way that even before he knew what love was, it blossomed in his chest— all those little ways, subtle hints that built into the dawning realisation that Xingqiu was his soulmate.
He had to be.
Soft lips on his, gentle fingers on his wrist, prying up his sleeve, an invisible question in his eyes as his cheeks glittered with a flush that Chongyun had put there, a dust of pink that made Chongyun’s heart swell with affection so great it threatened to swallow him whole.
Chongyun brushed a strand of his hair away with his fingers, tucking them behind one ear and relishing in the way Xingqiu’s breath caught in his throat, the way he had to swallow before looking back up, his face darkening as he looked to Chongyun for confirmation.
He nodded slowly, and watched, entranced, as Xingqiu rolled up his sleeve, as his pupils dilated and a blissful smile crossed his face, gentle and exited, as he pressed a small kiss to the number Chongyun couldn’t see, to a place that was only for the eyes of one destined for him.
Xingqiu’s arms wrapped around his neck, his breath on his cheek as he squeezed Chongyun, elated.
“73 years.” He breathed, voice low and delighted, his eyes so beautifully bright. “That feels like eternity. We’ve barley lived through twenty five percent of that. We have a whole seventy percent left to spend together.”
Chongyun felt warmth blossom in his chest and happiness creep up, up his neck until he felt a flush on his own cheeks. An eternity, with him and Xingqiu, XIngqiu and him, just them, side by side, for the rest of eternity.
Xingqiu presses his arm into Chongyun’s, gesturing for him to take it. A simple black band sat over where his number would be. “Tell me, Chongyun.” Xingqiu’s lips grazed his. “Tell me that we have eternity together, please. For the rest of our lives, for the rest of time.”
Chongyun took his wrist gently, feeling blood pound in his ears faintly before pressing a kiss to the outside of the band, then reaching to pull the fabric back, chasing the hope in Xingqiu’s eyes like it was a prayer.
342 days.
Xingqiu’s voice came to him before he could come back to himself.
“Chongyun…” Xingqiu cupped his face with a single hand, the other still being in Chongyun’s. “Is it true? Do we have the rest of our lives together?” A hesitant look slid across his features. “Together… forever?”
Chongyun remmebers.
He remembers the way Xingqiu never had his own ‘forever’, how much he feared that his family would abandon him, how much stability he lacked in the hope that people would stay, how desperate he was for a soulmate, if only to find someone to accompany him for the rest of his life, no matter how short it was.
He remembers the bliss, the hope in his expression just moments before.
“72 years.” Chongyun manages out, ignoring how the lie tastes like ash, cloying and heavy, weighting down on his tongue. “We’ll be together until you pass… We’ll be together, for eternity and then some.”
The resulting tears that flood into his soulmates eyes, the resulting kiss he gets in return— deep and loving, the way he felt, pressed against Chongyun, are what haunts him for eternity.
247 days.
Xingqiu gets sick.
Chongyun shouldn’t be very surprised.
In the grand scheme of things, there were only so many ways a man as young as Xingqiu could die, and the boy’s careful mediation had cast the option of accidents out by quite a bit— of course, it didn’t help that Xingqiu now believed he was to live for another seventy years.
“Its nothing, just a small flu.” Xingqiu had dismissed, early one morning, when he had first began to cough, and Chongyun, paranoid as he was, had demanded he go immediately to the doctors office, for even the slightest sniffle, the most harmless scratch.
Of course, it turns out to be more than the flu.
“A virus.” Chongyun says flatly, addressing a Xingqiu who was very nonchalant about contacting a potentially deadly virus. Xingqiu turns, looks at him, and tilts his head questioningly. “How did you even manage to catch a virus? Is it a common Liyuen one?”
Xingqiu sat down with a small dramatic fall, as was his staple. Being dramatic, not falling, though one could argue that being small counted as well. “Its Inazumen. I caught it on the last conference I went to.” He paused slightly. “You know, the one where that woman tried to buy you.”
Chongyun laughed slightly. He did, in fact, remember that particular trip, but however humorous the memory was it did not erase his concern for his lover. Xingqiu, observant as always, let himself soften and took Chongyun’s hands in his.
“I am aware that I am not infallible to death.” He said quietly. “I know the number on my wrist does not account for accidents. What I do know, however, is that I will not pass. This is no accident caused my recklessness, it is a mere turn of nature, one I know I will live through.”
Chongyun moved to embrace him, and if Xingqiu was surprised, he didn’t comment on how tightly he was being brought to Chongyun’s chest. He buried his face in the dark strands of Xingqiu, quietly mulling over his thoughts.
Xingqiu moved so that he could see Chongyun properly, and gave him a big smile. “Stop worrying, dearest Chongyun. I will live, you know this more than anyone.” He huffed. “And they say that I’m the dramatic one out of us two.”
And Xingqiu is so bright, so unbelievably alive and warm and glorious, that for a single moment, drawn to his spirit like moths to a flame, Chongyun lets himself believe him.
113 days.
Xingqiu gets worse.
Chongyun knows he’s going to die.
But still, he doesn’t say anything.
Xingqiu is sweet, Xingqiu is loving. He’s a little dramatic, a little whiny, but it was so much of his personality that CHongyun had long accepted with little more than a huff and undeniable fondness creeping into his heart.
He still stands to entertain Chongyun, still blesses him with his beautiful writing, still seeks to please Chongyun, still kisses him like he’s all he’ll ever need, is still the vibrant and beautiful person that Chongyun knew was his soulmate, that Chongyun had fallen for.
Xingqiu doesn’t believe he will die.
He knows that he will live, he knows that he couldn’t, because he had Chongyun, because Chongyun would never lie to him, because Chongyun had told him they would have forever together, and so he would chase that belief until there was nothing left, until that was the only truth in the world.
Chongyun knows this, knows that he is leading Xingqiu into a blind future where nothing but death awaits him, knows that this is, perhaps, the cruelest thing he could ever do, the most selfish thing that he had ever entertained.
He knows it is selfish.
(The thought of Xingqiu, his pretty amber eyes coated in malice and hatred, his mouth curled into a snarl and that insults spewing from his lips as smoothly as his verses did, haunted him deep into the night.)
He knows it is selfish, but he can’t bring himself to do it. To shatter the hope, the dreams of the one person who held the key to his heart, his bright, beautiful soulmate, who flickered as elegantly as a candle, vibrant sparks of red and gold, to see him dim, snuffed out.
Xingqiu looks to him from where he’s propped up in bed, nose buried in a book— a contented smile on his face, red eyes slightly puffy from where Chongyun knows he cried reading his stories— and opened his arms; an invitation.
Chongyun moves from where he is on the couch to join him in bed, shedding the outer layer of his clothing and leaving him in just his undershirt and pants before sliding in beside Xingqiu. The other man shuffled so he was half leaning on Chongyun, kissing the line of his jaw before returning to his book.
Chongyun habitually wraps his arms around Xingqiu, drawing him into his chest and letting his head fall back against the headboard.
One day, he would be without this warmth.
One day, he would wake up to find that the place beside him was empty, that it had once been lived in by a man who would abandon him in the months to come, that the person who was supposed to fill it was gone, gone, and he would never come back.
One day, he would walk by the bookstore, and out of habit, his eyes would seek out a figure, only to draw sharply back, a slap in the face, a sudden realisation that there would never be a head of dark blue hair there, never again.
One day, he would think of something funny, something he would file away, to tell Xingqiu later, only to stop short as he knew, even now, that he would have no chance to, that the words he wanted to speak then could never be said.
It hits him harder when he admits it this time.
Chongyun knows he’s going to die.
42 days.
The moon was a beautiful sheet of light streaming in from the windows.
Chongyun had always adored moonlight, not for the principle of it, but more for how beautiful it made Xingqiu look, how etherial the strands of blue would look on the pale skin, mesmerising, an angel, his, just for him.
Xingqiu was paler now, his hair lankier and his cheeks thinner. His lips were dry, his hands trembled as the cold took a harsher turn, the bags under his eyes making him look constantly tired and sleep deprived.
But still, he looked just as beautiful to Chongyun.
Chongyun reached for Xingqiu’s hand, clasping it in his and resting it on the pillow between them, letting himself fall back in the trap of those glorious gold eyes, the spell that they held him under, the trance that would make negative emotions cease to exist.
Chongyun whispers, although no one is there to quiet them.
“I’m scared.” He tells, small and unsure, squeezing their palms together. “You’re shaking, Xingqiu. I can feel it. This virus is going through you a lot harsher than we thought it would.”
“Its fine.” Xingqiu whispers back, letting his eyes slide shut. “I’ll live through this, because you saw that I will, and we can live together for eternity, peaceful now that the moment of sickness has passed us.”
Chongyun’s breath caught in his throat.
“How are you so sure?” He asked, almost panicked. “How are you so certain that everything will be fine?”
Xingqiu’s eyes peeked open, his returning smile breathtaking. “Because you told me, Chongyun, and nothing in this world weighs heavier than my faith in you. Because until the end of my life, I will hold your word, your belief above that of all others, above even my own.”
Chongyun feels a lump in his throat, tears stinging at his eyes slightly. He kisses Xingqiu’s forehead.
Xingqiu’s eyes flutter shut as a small, contented smile forms on his face.
“I love you.” He says sweetly. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of eternity with you.”
0 days.
Xingqiu doesn’t wake up the next morning.