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Yibo steps out onto the balcony of his room and breathes deeply, taking in a lungful of cool air. He closes his eyes and feels the light breeze ruffling his hair, hears the distant call of birds. It’s quiet and peaceful in a way he hasn’t felt in a long while -- a sudden calm after weeks and days of flurried activity.
He folds his arms and leans on the railing, taking in the view. A sparkling pond ringed with gently waving grasses colored in midsummer greens and yellows, a serene mood stretched out under a deepening blue sky laced with drifting white clouds.
In the near distance, a lean figure stands on the water’s edge and tips his face up, eyes closed, the golden late afternoon sunlight lighting up his handsome features. Yibo’s eyes trail over the high cheekbones, linger on the man’s pretty lips, then skate over his sharp jawline, and down the graceful arc of his neck. His shirt ruffles on the air, hinting at a broad chest and firm arms. Ah, and those long, endlessly long legs...
It is a beloved terrain.
Yibo thinks about the boy whose bright smile felt like warm sunlight on his own face, the kind that hits suddenly as the morning breaks over the horizon. From the start, it was a smile that was dazzling and comforting all at once. It took his breath away at the same time that it anchored him (it still does).
His thoughts go to another inn, in another time. Heat pools in his stomach as he remembers their stolen kisses and frantic couplings, the way they scrabbled for every moment out of fear they would run out.
Now, there’s time. It’s never enough -- he always wants more, because of course he does -- but there’s a restfulness to the time in between, like the calm knowledge that the brilliant sun will always rise the next morning.
The shushing rustle of grass shakes Yibo out of his reverie and he blinks back to himself. The man is moving with long and careful strides through the tall reeds and grasses as if he’s trying not to leave a trace.
But Yibo can see the wake of bent blades behind him -- that’s how he is. He can’t help but leave an impression everywhere he goes. On Yibo especially.
Yibo pushes back from the railing and goes down the steps from the balcony. He feels his pace pick up as he takes the worn stone path and watches as Xiao Zhan catches sight of him and breaks into a wide smile. Ahhh, there it is. Yibo feels it on his heart -- a thunk that takes his breath away. After all these years.
Soft hands reach out to cradle Yibo’s face, warm on his skin but for a spot of metallic cool against his right cheek. Yibo leans into it and what it means. Familiar lips meet his and he savors the feel and taste of this man, the sound of their mingled breaths. He lets his hands roam over the firm planes of Xiao Zhan’s body, drawing him close.
“Laogong,” Yibo murmurs, raising his eyes to meet the sun in his sky.
“Wo jia xiansheng,” Xiao Zhan replies, eyes shining.
Yibo folds Xiao Zhan’s hands in his and entwines their fingers, smiling as the day’s waning light glints off their rings, bright and unblemished like a new day.
