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Xingqiu was a hopeless romantic.
Falling in love had been something of a dream to him. A wish, a tantalizing gem in the night sky that he couldn’t help but reach for. He would sit at his desk, stacks of whatever paperwork his father instructed him to do sitting incomplete at one end. Lazily, one finger would come to trace the grooves in between the surface of the pinewood as Xingqiu daydreamed about some pretty someone sweeping him off his feet.
Though his preferred genres of reading ranged from wuxia to fantasy, romance was admittedly snuck into his mass amounts of purchases from Wanwen Bookhouse as well. They were books he would feign disinterest in, eyes carefully cataloging his surroundings before ever so swiftly slipping one off the shelf. He was discreet as he slid Mora over the counter to Ji Fang and always made his escape just as slyly. Such novels were something he hid from the public, not daring to ever bring one out to the streets lest a curious eye catch sight of it and start some unnecessary gossip.
Only once was Xingqiu ever caught reading one of his guilty pleasures. He’d been so immersed in the way the protagonist had cupped the love interest’s face, the kiss no doubt just a line away or less, that he hadn’t heard the booming steps of his brother coming down the hallway. It wasn’t until the rough dragging of wood against the floor managed a way to Xingqiu’s ears and the door to his bedroom yanked open that the bookworm realized his mistake. Moving faster than he ever had before, Xingqiu had slammed his book shut and ducked it under the sheets of his bed.
But alas, the damage had been done and he wasn’t quick enough, the cover featuring a maiden in silken robes draped across her heroic lover stamped rather obviously on the front of the novel. Unfortunately for Xingqiu, such a colorful display had not gone unnoticed by the inquisitive gaze of his older brother.
It took his brother a moment, mouth opening to say something. Not a moment later, a sneaky grin made a way to his face and he narrowed his eyes. “Was that what I think it was?”
“No,” Xingqiu had huffed hastily, frowning.
Apparently, that answer hadn’t been convincing and Xingqiu’s brother bursted out in a fit of unrestrained laughter, hand propping himself on the wall to keep him from doubling over. After that embarrassing occurrence, Xingqiu declared never to let anyone else see his stash of romance novels ever again, cheeks flaring as he forcefully shoved his brother outside of his room.
Funnily enough, however, Xingqiu found that he couldn’t exactly keep that promise for long.
He had made sure to be careful about what he read around his family, exclaiming a rather furious “Da-Ge!” whenever his older brother tried to tell his own friends and other guests about Xingqiu’s secret. As embarrassing as it all was, it didn’t stop Xingqiu from reading about romance, though. If anything, his pace at which he consumed such writings increased and the little hidden corner under his bed where he kept all his investments was starting to become rather cramped.
He wasn’t sure why love was such a fascinating idea at first. Xingqiu would lay awake on his bed at night, hug his largest pillow close to his body, and stare outside his window, lip roving back and forth against his teeth as he contemplated the thought. He would sometimes reread a certain passage in one of the novels he owned, wondering why it had left such an impact on him and why it was so flustering to admit that fact to himself.
One evening in particular, he had looked down at his hands, flexed his joints in his lap and then joined them together to intertwine his fingers just like the two lovers in his most recent story had done. In fact, almost all of the romance stories featured hand holding. He had adjusted his hold and rubbed his thumb against the soft flesh between it and his index finger, seeing how his knobby knuckles fit together.
Xingqiu then imagined doing that same action with someone he could call his love. He imagined the warmth of their palms together and the feel of their body leaning against his. He imagined the feel of gentle arms wrapped around his body and the tickling of eye lashes against his cheeks, the soft touch of lips against lips.
And then, the image Chongyun flickered into his mind and Xingqiu ripped his hands apart.
———————
Perhaps Xingqiu had been in love with his dearest friend for a long time. It was only after that moment of realization, however, that his soul anchored, a tether created to a plane of reality outside of the pages of ink he drowned himself in; the romance Xingqiu had yearned for for so long suddenly blossomed into his life and took the shape of Chongyun. It suddenly became real.
Chongyun was easy to love, afterall. Or rather, it was easy to fall in love with him.
In truth, the idea of love was daunting to Xingqiu, and while he always put his full effort into whatever he set his mind to, the commitment that came with a relationship was a little scary. The idea of loving someone — really loving someone — was scary. To put effort into something that might not work out, to risk the outcome of a heart shattered into a million, irreparable pieces, was scary.
To give all of himself to someone. To place his heart into the hands of another — of Chongyun — and give him absolute power.
Power that could either save or destroy.
But, alas, love was a double edged sword. One that was much too enticing for Xingqiu not to grab hold of.
The tiny stumbling of his heart, the ache in his chest, the warmth that thrilled from the tips of his ears and over the bridge of his nose were something he found himself constantly chasing after; the moment Xingqiu tiptoed over the lines of platonic feelings and into the oceans that were romantic, he found himself craving it all. Craving the thrumming of his heartstrings, craving the burning warmth nestled in his stomach, craving the feeling of falling— fall, fall, falling in love with Chongyun.
And how could he not? It was hard not to fall for Chongyun.
It was hard not to fall when a head of cerulean would bounce when he walked. It was hard not to fall when rays of sunlight would drip through the branches of the trees at just the right angle and dapple his features in droplets of gold. It was hard not to fall when his hands, despite their calluses and roughness, were more gentle than a smooth breeze whispering past the city, his laugh kinder than the lap of the ocean’s waves across the beach.
It was hard not to fall for Chongyun when he’d sleep under whatever tree they’d find respite under, head slipping to cushion on Xingqiu’s shoulder. Xingqiu would always be rather baffled, breathing an airy laugh and wondering how the gold rims of his overcoat could possibly be comfortable poking against Chongyun’s cheek. And yet, the young exorcist would never stir, instead humming a contented little noise at the way Xingqiu threaded his fingers through unruly locks of blue and in turn sending the bookworm’s pulse into a frenzy.
It was hard not to fall for Chongyun when he’d come home after an expedition from some Archons-forsaken place, beaten and dirty and always in search of Xingqiu.
It confused the Guild heir the first few times it happened, brows furrowed and the question of why not just go home? always on his tongue. If Chongyun ever mumbled a quiet, you are my home, then Xingqiu thought it to only be a trick of the mind.
On the night Chongyun finally did confess his reasoning, however, a small mumble in the darkness of Xingqiu’s bedroom as the swordsman delicately wrapped bandages around his companion’s wrist, you always take the best care of me, it certainly did wonders to Xingqiu’s heart.
He had accidentally tied the knot of Chongyun’s bandages a bit too much that night, fingers fumbling quite shakily to try again as he muttered a quick sorry.
Oh, it was so hard not to fall for Chongyun.
It was hard not to fall for Chongyun when he’d make the most endearing expressions. Expressions made in the tiny moments, the ones in which Chongyun let down his walls and allowed himself just a pinch of unrestrained freedom.
His brow would furrow and he’d stare intently at some distant space whenever he'd be thinking critically about something. When embarrassed, his cheeks would flare and his thumbs would twiddle in his lap. During the stories Tea Master Liu told, Chongyun’s eyes would brighten and a smile would tug gently at the corners of his mouth. Inversely, when he was miffed at something Xingqiu said or did, his lips would form the smallest of pouts and he’d make the most adorable little annoyed huff. That certainly made it very hard not to fall for him.
Admittedly, the day Xingqiu found out he could muster such a reaction from his dearest friend, he couldn't help himself but do all he could to see it again the next day. And maybe that wasn’t the best decision to have ever been made, especially since Xingqiu’s heart would trip over itself in a way that he feared might be worrisome. That, and he’d also always have to restrain himself from reaching out and grabbing Chongyun’s cheeks, a bit chubbier than Xingqiu’s own and all the more cute because of it.
But, it was addicting — oh so very addicting.
It didn’t exactly help that Chongyun had a dimple, either. Just one. On his left cheek. Quite tiny, really. For the first few years of their friendship, the bookworm honestly didn’t realize it existed.
Occasionally, when Chongyun did allow himself, the dimple would make an appearance. Sometimes it popped up when they were eating as Chongyun made funny faces at whatever new concoction Xiangling pressured him into. Sometimes it appeared as he would smile during his rare ramblings about his recent exorcism studies.
And while he knew it would lead to the dimple disappearing, Xingqiu couldn’t really restrain himself from reaching out and poking it, the exorcist flushing a brilliant red and slapping his hand up to protect his face every time his friend did so.
As silly as it was, Xingqiu also found himself falling for the little things about Chongyun. Stupid, silly things like Chongyun having a bad habit of chewing on the ends of pencils and pens. The fact his pinkie toes naturally curled into his feet, how he loved Inazuman cuisine, and how he couldn’t — for the life of him — manage to tame his unruly bed head. And his favorite color...
“Like sunsettias?” Xingqiu had asked one day, prodding Chongyun’s side as he smiled. “Or maybe like jueyun chilies that aren’t ripe yet? Or — wait, you don’t like carrot-orange, do you?”
“Absolutely not!” Chongyun had chuckled, shaking his head. “And sunsettias are too vibrant. The orange I like is something easier on the eyes. Similar to the sunset, I guess.”
And somehow, Xingqiu couldn’t help but find that utterly romantic. Ever since then, on the evenings Xingqiu was allowed to stay out an extra hour or so, he’d purposefully bring them up to Feiyun Slope. Together, they’d climb the stairs to the bridge overlooking the harbour to watch the sun dip down over the horizon. Only, Xingqiu would turn his head and look at Chongyun instead.
It was hard — so, so very hard not to fall in love with Chongyun. And, so, Xingqiu kept on falling. Falling, falling, falling and he couldn’t stop. No matter how hard he tried not to, Xingqiu would fall in love all over again the moment he saw his dearest companion, each time harder than the last, deeper and crazier and more complete.
Chongyun was like a refreshing taste of something sweet after a hot day, a missing piece in the puzzle of his life that Xingqiu didn’t even realize was missing. He was the sky and the clouds, laughter and hope, precious and wonderful.
He was everything Xingqiu had longed for and more.
For all he knew, it might’ve been inevitable, and so at one point, the mere quick glances and soft name calling begged to become something more than just that — feelings begged to turn into physical reality and Xingqiu ached.
Every now and again, brief touches would transpire and Xingqiu would have to call upon all of his willpower to keep a straight face. Chongyun would tug at the frills of white cuffs, his knuckles ghosting over the other’s wrist, and Xingqiu would lean into it. They’d be navigating the busyness of the harbour’s crowd and Xingqiu would latch his pinky around Chongyun’s to keep them from separating. They’d be eating at Wanmin and Xingqiu would scooch his stool just a little bit closer to Chongyun’s and nudge their shoulders together just to feel the other’s weight against him. Chongyun would be talking about something and eating and Xingqiu would reach out to swipe his thumb against the corner of the boy’s mouth, claiming it was merely because “you had some food there.” They’d be walking home from a commission out in the wilds of Liyue and Xingqiu would slip his hand into Chongyun’s just because he wanted to. On sweltering summer days, when the sun was unforgiving and they were forced to find shade under a tree, he’d guide Chongyun’s head to lay in his lap.
And on such days, in which the heat would be a bit too much and Chongyun fell unconscious into Xingqiu’s arms, the swordsman would hold him close. He’d tuck Chongyun’s head just underneath his chin and listen to his breathing or press his ear against Chongyun’s chest and listen to his heartbeat. He’d bury his nose in soft hair, trace fingertips along his scalp, leave trails of unspoken feelings across his cheeks, always wishing, always yearning.
Always wanting more.
Xingqiu wanted. Oh how he wanted, wanted, wanted.
It was terrifying.
It terrified Xingqiu at how much he wanted Chongyun. How much he wanted to fall in love with Chongyun. How much he wanted to love. To breach the surface of the ocean of feelings he’d been drowning in, to dance his fingers over the curve of the boy’s jaw, to cup his cheek and embrace him. To lean that much closer into him and communicate those wishes by mouthing against lips that tasted of mist flowers.
To communicate all of the things he wanted to say. In your arms my storms quell, in your arms my worries fade away like smoke in a breeze, in your arms I feel at peace, in your arms I feel at home, in your arms, in your arms, in your arms…
In your arms, Xingqiu wants to say, I think that I can learn to love you.
And maybe, by some trick of fate, or blessing from the Archons, Xingqiu got just that.
With a mouth against his cheek, weaving verses across his skin and dancing into his ear, Chongyun offered his heart.
“I love you,” Chongyun had said one evening, the sun blanketing the side of his face in the very color the boy loved so much. And, oh — oh, how sweet those words had been to Xingqiu’s ears. The reverberations of such sounds echoing in his head for months to come.
Never had he actually thought that Chongyun would’ve been so kind as to return his feelings.
From that moment on, things changed. They found a way to piece together a new start.
Dating was surreal, to say the least. It was scary in its own right, with neither of them really knowing what to do. With all the romance novels Xingqiu had read, none of them amounted to the awkwardness that came with the beginnings of a relationship. Eventually, though, they found a way to navigate it all. Between shy handholding and little kisses stolen across the table at Wanmin, tentative cuddling on each other’s bed and all the other cliches Xingqiu had only read about on paper, they managed.
And it was wonderful. He’s sure that a flush sits high on his cheeks whenever Chongyun is around because each and every time he sees the boy and realizes that, yes, that is his boy — His boy. His — a lightness fills Xingqiu’s chest and his mornings become just that more giddy because it promised a new day with his beloved. Chongyun was his and he was Chongyun’s and Xingqiu was never able to shake the smile that captured his mouth every time he thought about it.
The only time his grin would falter was when Chongyun would tell him how much he loved Xingqiu.
Being one who couldn’t find words as easily as others could, Chongyun expressed his feelings more often than not with physical touches. His chin would hook onto Xingqiu’s shoulder in a hug from behind. He’d wrap arms around Xingqiu’s waist and curl up into his side as the bookworm read. A foot would loop around Xingqiu’s calf when they sat next to each other.
Even still, he was rather blunt. Blunt and quite vocal with the things he wanted to say when he finally did manage a way to work out his feelings in sentence format. Sentences that, more often than not, were expressed as a weighty, I love you.
“I love you,” Chongyun would say as they parted ways.
“I love you,” Chongyun would say when Xingqiu kissed him.
“I love you,” Chongyun would say into the silences that would fill the spaces between them.
And every time, Xingqiu’s lungs would squeeze. His heart would skip a beat and his mouth would go dry. Because even though those were the very words he craved since the moment he came to the understanding of what love was, no romance novel could have ever prepared him for the tortures his mind would befall him.
No romance novel could had ever prepared Xingqiu for committing so dearly.
Despite being the one to have fallen first, despite being the one who craved hearing an utterance such as that whispered against his skin in the dying light of evening — despite wanting Chongyun to be the very one to say it — Xingqiu couldn’t find it in himself to say it back.
Love was such a powerful force that it became a part of the oxygen Xingqiu needed to breathe.
And the fear of admitting to that choked him.
Oddly enough, Chongyun stayed. He would smile in a way that seemed acutely knowing. On the days Xingqiu battled these thoughts, Chongyun would (quite surprisingly) catch notice almost immediately. He’d hold the other’s hand a bit longer than usual, brush up next to his arms more often, give an extra kiss goodbye to Xingqiu’s temple, nudge his forehead against the him whenever they sat down.
On some nights, when Xingqiu battled against nightmares that left him gasping and screaming and shaking, he would appear at Chongyun’s doorstep without any prenotion, without a word, and simply walk into his arms. Thankfully, Chongyun would welcome him every time. They would lie on the exorcist’s bed, Xingqiu clutching to him as if he’d disappear — still so afraid of the idea of losing the one he cared so deeply for, so afraid of wanting too much of a good thing — until they fell asleep.
Chongyun appeared to know exactly what Xingqiu was going through. He never said anything, though, only offered gentle touches and quiet hums when they shared hugs as a silent way of saying it’s okay.
Perhaps that was how Xingqiu had ended up here, morning rays streaming into the bedroom, Chongyun’s cheek pressed against his heart and arms wrapped around his middle, quiet snores matching with the rise and fall of Xingqiu’s lungs. Chest to chest, nestled between legs just one inch in difference. The boy’s eyelashes were still clumping together and shadowing delicately just under the thin skin below his eye, the tiny freckles dotting across the bridge of his nose darkened by low light. Bangs of blue shrouding over his face and bunching where he was pressed against the other.
He was beautiful, loveable. So beautiful and so loveable, it hurt.
It was dangerous, maybe, to hold the one he adored so much asleep in his grasp. To trace fingertips delicately over the other’s forehead and brush periwinkle locks out of the way. To allow such a doting smile to tug at his mouth. Maybe it was dangerous to want to freeze time in that one moment and perhaps hug his precious boy that much closer and bury himself in the scent of sandalwood and qingxin flowers. Maybe it was dangerous to want so much.
Maybe it was dangerous to call Chongyun his.
As Xingqiu brings his hand lower, brushes the back of his fingers over the apple of Chongyun’s cheek and down to the cupid’s bow of his lips, Xingqiu wonders if perhaps it was dangerous to love so much and not know whether or not to bottle such feelings up. Wonders if saying those three magic words would be worth it. Wonders if he’d ever fall out of love.
If Chongyun would ever fall out of love.
Perhaps it was that thought that left Xingqiu so scared.
Xingqiu huffs a small, pitiful laugh through his nose, thumb roving over a dip in Chongyun’s bottom lip. A dip that Xingqiu had wondered about many times before dating and what it’d be like to kiss him right there, to feel that little dent against his own mouth. And now he has kissed him there. Touched that very spot countless times again and again in an effort to convey the things he could never quite say out loud. A silent, I love you to the moon and back, always, always, always.
He wants to kiss that dent again. He wants to kiss his mouth.
Oh how he wanted.
Yet, perhaps it was selfish to have been given so much already and yet still crave for more.
The tear that escapes the corner of his eye is a bit of a surprise. Xingqiu blinks in shock, sniffles a bit to clear his nose and then wipes away at his face. It doesn’t exactly help, though, and another tear rolls down. Then another and another and Xingqiu frantically drags the back of his hand over his cheeks in an effort to get himself to stop crying. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
The boy atop him shifts and arms tighten slightly around his middle. A little “mgnh” is registered as Chongyun blearily blinks his eyes open, no doubt awoken by Xingqiu’s movements. Still half open, the boy’s gaze drags over to meet Xingqiu’s, chin wrinkling the heir’s sleepshirt in the process.
“Ah,” Xingqiu croaks out, his throat a bit scratchy from sleep. “Good morning, dearest.”
Chongyun’s eyes are still tired, but the concern that rims them is there and he immediately lifts xhis head. “Was’ wrong?”
“Is it really that noticeable?” Xingqiu attempts a laugh, but it comes out strangled. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing.”
But worry Chongyun does and he releases his grip around the other’s waist in favor of propping himself up on his elbows. His hair is pressed against the side of his face in a funny little way which makes Xingqiu want to smile and cry and laugh all at once and — ah, it’s much too early for his traitorous mind to be so wicked against him.
Archons, he loved Chongyun.
Xingqiu shakes his head. Once, twice, three times. Whether it was to convince Chongyun or himself that he was okay was a bit unclear. He swallows, forcing himself to shove away the scary bubbling in his chest that screeches to be freed. Begs to release his burdens. All his worries and fears and feelings that were just too terrifying to comprehend.
His facade must fall, though, if Chongyun’s hand cradling his face has anything to say for it.
“Hey,” Chongyun says softly, thumbing away at another betraying tear.
The word is rough, sleep-laced and tinged with the same scratchy-ness of Xingqiu’s own weird morning voice, but it’s enough to make him cave. And suddenly, the dam breaks and Xingqiu can’t control the waves that pour from his heart.
He’s not a pretty crier. When Xingqiu cried, it was choked gasps and distorted features. A snot clogged nose and garbled sniveling. Messy emotions and no way to solve them.
Chongyun moves, settling himself up closer to Xingqiu’s head, turning onto his side and drawing the grief-choked boy closer to his chest. His ankle loops around Xingqiu’s in a familiar way and a hand finds a gentle home on the back of his head.
It’s still only a few hours after daybreak, his mind muddled with incoherent thoughts that string together in a chaotic ball. It’s so hard to disentangle, so hard to decipher, so hard to understand. It’s painted with dark splotches of pain and despair and guilt and other horrid things that Xingqiu isn’t sure he wants to uncover.
And so it just all spills out. Each and every one of those feelings surface and emerge in an ugly sob from his throat. Nothing about it is nice. He just cries and grabs Chongyun’s shirt so desperately, so fiercely that his knuckles pale in color.
He hated himself. With such vehemence, Xingqiu hated himself. To have gone along and allowed his heart to slip into Chongyun’s hands, given it up so easily, so carelessly — to have allowed himself the indulgence of loving Chongyun and being loved, yet being selfish enough to hold back just enough. To take a step away and stop Chongyun at a distance. Refuse him the grace of loving entirely. Chain him to all of Xingqiu’s stupid insecurities. All because he was scared.
That wasn’t fair. None of it was fair for Chongyun. Xingqiu was not being fair to Chongyun.
Didn’t he know Xingqiu would only hurt him? Didn’t he know that staying by his side would only be a burden to carry? Didn’t he know he deserved more than the crumpled mess that was Xingqiu? Someone greater who could shine and love as passionately as Chongyun did? Why was he still even here? Why was it that Chongyun still strung himself to Xingqiu’s side despite everything? Why? Why, why, why, why, why…?
Xingqiu can’t really hear much more than his own gross hiccuping, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he makes out mellow words of comfort spoken against his ear, the tender brushing of his hair.
“Why — ?” Xingqiu gasps out, voice thick with weeping.
Chongyun frowns against him, replies, “Why what?”
“Why…” Xingqiu lets out a strangled noise, fingers shaking from where they clutch at the fabric between them. “Why do you love me?”
The hand at Xingqiu’s head stills. For a moment, Xingqiu’s heart stops in terror that perhaps that action alone speaks every answer there ever was to such a question. Chongyun pulls back, though, edging himself down so that his head rests close on the pillow next to Xingqiu’s. Chongyun’s thumb does another sweep right under his eye, this time tracing down to his chin to raise it. He bumps his forehead against Xingqiu’s, soft eyelashes tickling the other’s own.
“What’s there not to love about you?” he asks gingerly, seriously.
Xingqiu hates that question. He doesn’t want to answer and so his gaze flickers down, ashamed to look at Chongyun because was he really that blind to all of the second heir’s flaws?
“What’s there to love about me?” Xingqiu retorts bitterly. After saying that, he clamps down and bites the inside of his lip, despising the way Chongyun’s hand falters on his cheek.
“Xingqiu.” The said boy is still pointedly glaring at the pillowcase, but he knows — Archons, he knows exactly what Chongyun’s face looks like right now. All wide eyed in disbelief, lips parted so delicately and anxiety etched in the corners of his mouth. The way his voice lowers to that one tone he only ever uses when Xingqiu is upset says it all.
It takes all of his being not to crumble all over again.
“I’m sorry,” Xingqiu says throatily, curling back up into Chongyun’s shoulder. Chongyun immediately wraps his arms back around him. “I don’t mean to be so depressing.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Chongyun mutters meaningfully into his hair. “Please, don’t apologize.”
“But it hurts — “ Xingqiu’s voice catches. “It hurts, Chongyun. There’s a fire in my chest and it’s painful because I — I...“ I love you.
He stops. Stifles a cry into the crook of Chongyun’s neck. Digs fingernails into his shirt. They were just three little words. Three simple, yet incredibly intimidating words. Terrifying words.
And Xingqiu couldn’t say them.
Miraculously, in some way Xingqiu can’t comprehend, Chongyun simply nuzzles weakly against him, whispering, “I know.”
Xingqiu trembles, shrinks into himself because, oh. Chongyun is good. So good. So impossibly good Xingqiu is scared it might be too much for his poor heart to handle. How or why the exorcist is able to grasp the turmoil inside the other’s head without Xingqiu telling him personally is a mystery.
More tears slide down reddened cheeks and soak Chongyun’s skin. He wants to tell him so badly. He wants to yell, scream, cry out for all to hear — I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. It races through his head and claws within the deepest pits of his soul, begging to leap off his tongue and escape to the world of sound. Escape to Chongyun’s ears.
Xingqiu wants Chongyun to know how much he loves him.
“I — “ Xingqiu begins, but his voice is wobbly and his breathing stutters a bit more. “Chongyun, I — “
A finger presses softly against his lips to silence him. Chongyun leans back again. The exorcist holds eye contact for a moment. Only after he’s sure that Xingqiu won’t continue does he let his finger go, moving to replace it with his own mouth.
It’s a gentle kiss. It’s gentle and slow, the way Chongyun shifts to match their mouths in the oh so familiar way they had done many times before, calming him. It isn’t long, nor is it short. It just is. Just there. And it’s warm. So warm that Xingqiu lays there shocked, not really reciprocating, unsure of what to really do. But Chongyun is steady, his comfort pooling into Xingqiu and somehow claiming all of whatever worries clutter the swordsman’s mind when he draws away.
Icy irises stare back at Xingqiu, but it isn’t hard like the shards of cold found during winter. It’s milky and reflects the little lights of the peeping morning in a way that reminds him of diamonds.
“You don’t have to force yourself to say it. It’s okay.” Chongyun lifts a hand to brush bangs out of Xingqiu’s eyes. “I already know.”
“You do?” Xingqiu questions.
Chongyun offers a grin, the small lopsided one that shows his dimple. “Of course I do.”
“But I…” Xingqiu struggles. “I don’t — I haven’t…”
“Hey.” Chongyun slides his hand across Xingqiu’s jaw, up under his ear. “It’s okay. You already do enough.”
He leans closer, moves his nose to tickle the tip of Xingqiu’s own. “I love you, you know,” Chongyun whispers to his mouth. “I love you more than anything.”
“I know,” Xingqiu replies feebly and he swallows. “But don’t you want to hear me say that, too?”
“Yes.” Chongyun’s eyes flicker back and forth between twin ambers. “However —” he thumbs at Xingqiu’s cheek again. “ — I am willing to be patient if you’re not ready yet.”
Xingqiu lets out a shaky exhale, hands fisting more so on the back of Chongyun’s shirt. He tugs Chongyun forward somewhat, moving to pull themselves closer and burying his head into the comforting crook of the exorcist’s neck. Faintly, through the thin fabrics they wear, Xingqiu can make out the steady beating of Chongyun’s heart against his chest, the pulse at his throat a soothing reminder that he is real and he’s here.
Chongyun was willing to wait. He is willing and perfect and so, impossibly good.
“Thank you,” Xingqiu croaks, pressing a small kiss to the dip of Chongyun’s shoulder.
And then he just closes his eyes, hugging the boy beside him impossibly closer and reveling in the sweet scent that was Chongyun — a gentle river in the brisk of morning, the calm crunch of brittle leaves in autumn.
If Chongyun trusted him enough to utter a promise as profound and as weighty as I love you, then perhaps Xingqiu could learn to say it too.
Perhaps he didn’t have to worry about being so scared.