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“Dumbass,” mutters Chu-ge, and Changcheng’s self-consciousness and curiosity combine and escalate to unbearable levels. Is Chu-ge calling him a dumbass in a bad way? Is he mad? It’s so hard to tell with the mask obscuring half his face.
The narrow cobbled street is dark and empty. Changcheng gasps, pre-emptively panicked at what he’s about to do, but he does it anyway. He lengthens his stride and, turning, blocks Chu-ge’s path.
Chu-ge stops. No, he freezes. “What are you doing?”
Which isn’t fair at all. Changcheng isn’t wearing a mask, has nothing to hide behind. But in some ways, that’s easier—surely Chu-ge’s already seen how he feels. He must know. Pretending it’s nothing is—it’s the coward’s way. And Changcheng decided on his first day at the SID that, if he were going to work there, he couldn’t be a coward. He gathers his courage and looks Chu-ge in the eye. “Would—Chu-ge, would you ever take off your mask? For me?”
Chu-ge tenses like a wild creature. If the mask hadn’t had eyeholes, he might have burned through it with his gaze. He huffs. Is he—is he angry? He can’t possibly be afraid! Not of Changcheng!
“Don’t be stupid,” he says. “Why would you want me to?”
Oh. He hasn’t worked it out after all. Changcheng’s face burns, but having come this far, he can’t back down. He steps right up to Chu-ge, close enough to smell him. He always smells so good. “Because this.”
Heart thumping, he takes Chu-ge’s hand in both of his and squeezes it, right there in the street, with the clear night sky overhead.
Chu-ge doesn’t return the squeeze, but nor does he pull away. His hand seems to scorch Changcheng’s icy fingers, and it’s strong and capable, of course, but the skin is softer than Changcheng expected. Maybe because most of the time Chu-ge fights with strings not fists. Because he doesn’t touch anyone. Changcheng needs that hand on his cheek, his neck, everywhere, is desperate to say something to make that happen, but his throat tightens and no words come. He swallows and brings the hand to his chest, instead, pressing it flat over his pounding heart.
Chu-ge gulps. His voice is rough. “You shouldn’t—not for me. Changcheng, I’m not worth—”
“You are,” says Changcheng, only daring to interrupt because he won’t listen to that crap. “Don’t be stupid.”
Impossibly, Chu-ge laughs. It’s an incredulous sound, like he’s been ambushed by joy. And it’s contagious. Changcheng is so mesmerised by the curve of his mouth, he doesn’t notice Chu-ge’s free hand come up until the mask is lifted away and Chu-ge is there, looking at him with his whole beautiful face. Defiance in the tilt of his eyebrows, uncertainty in the colour on his cheeks, and in his eyes—in his eyes, so much heat. Enough to start a fire.
That’s contagious, too. “Chu-ge,” breathes Changcheng, and without letting himself think about it, he leans in and presses a soft, careful kiss to Chu-ge’s mouth.
It’s the sweetest of things—Chu-ge’s lips moving against his, wonderingly; Chu-ge’s hand sliding from Changcheng’s heart to trace his jaw. It’s dizzying and exciting, and Changcheng’s head starts to swim. But if he’s going to swoon, there’s something he has to say first.
He pulls away a little, gasping, tingling all over, and boldly cups the side of Chu-ge’s face where the mask usually sits. “I just—I—I want you to know, Chu-ge, whatever happens, I’m yours.”
Chu-ge pulls him close and wraps his arms tight around him, pressing Changcheng’s face into the shoulder of his coat. Chu-ge is breathing hard, his neck flushed against Changcheng’s ear.
“I know you have other, more important priorities,” adds Changcheng, determined to finish. “Hei Pao Shi Daren, I mean. I know. But for me, you’re the most imp—”
Chu-ge cuts him off, kissing the rest of the declaration from his lips. A deeper, darker kiss, this one, making Changcheng ache deliciously and press closer until crimson flares behind his eyelids. Chu-ge scratches his stubble-rough cheek to Changcheng’s ear and murmurs, fondly, “Dumbass.”
END