Work Text:
He Xuan wakes up, tangled in the bedsheets, as if floating out of the darkness — silently, slowly, on the waves of consciousness. His hair is fanned out on the pillow, his right hand is stiff, and the fingers of his left hand are unconsciously clutching the blanket. The air, chilly and refreshing, uncomfortably brushes against He Xuan's uncovered shoulder, though the hand on his waist is warm and solid. Hua Cheng is breathing rhythmically into the nape of his neck, and his breath sends goosebumps down the spine. He Xuan blinks to shake away the haze of dreaming.
Once.
Twice.
His eyelashes are lengthened, entangled and damp with tears. On his cheek at the corner of the eyelid, a dry, unpleasantly tight trail of tears streaks across his skin. He Xuan squeezes his eyes shut and presses his back further into Hua Cheng. An arm around his waist tightens in response to the motion, and He Xuan feels a lighthearted kiss resting softly on his hair.
He Xuan holds his breath — years go by, but he still can't get used to it. Neither to the immense affection, nor to Hua Cheng himself.
He Xuan feels like the moment he opens his eyes, whole painstakingly shaped small world is going to crack and shatter.
Hua Cheng's smile will shatter. Slowly melt off his face.
He Xuan is scared, he thinks he is dreaming, that it's all just the wildest dream. One of the rare blissful dreams in his life, gently sheltering his fragile, wounded heart.
At moments like this he is terrified to open his eyes. He does it anyway.
The grip on his waist doesn't disappear, nor does the heat from behind. The world doesn't crumble with his awakening. The loft has large windows, hollow walls, light draught. They moved in a few weeks ago and still haven't unpacked the boxes. Chinese food containers are thrown haphazardly between them. Not a single free space on the floor, the studio looks like complete chaos. Hua Cheng nuzzles his cold nose just below He Xuan's ear and lets out a low lingering groan.
He Xuan shudders.
He thinks, I'd like to wake up like this for the rest of my life.
He thinks, I'd have stayed with Hua Cheng, if the gods were merciful to us.
I'd stay with him even if they weren't. Consequences be damned.
He Xuan faintly exhales. The tension slowly drains from his shoulders. He covers the other's hand with his own and turns carefully on the bed to face Hua Cheng. Hua Cheng's eye slightly narrowed under the bright sunlight. He blinks sleepily several times until he finally chases away the traces of sleep. On the second eyelid, scarred lines seem to be smoothed out by the soft drowsiness apparent in the calm expression of his face.
The eyepatch is lying abandoned on the nightstand. It is one of the tokens of trust granted to He Xuan gratuitously. When Hua Cheng first uncharacteristically insecure and slightly ashamed to remove the eyepatch, refusing to meet He Xuan's eyes, not sure where to put his hands and trying to hide his left eyelid with bangs, He Xuan smoothly tucked the loose strands from Hua Cheng's hair behind his ear, gently took his face in the palms of his hands and delicately caressed his scarred eyelid with lips. Hua Cheng exhaled sharply and raspy then, leaning into the touch, and never again hesitated to remove the eyepatch in He Xuan's presence.
Hua Cheng's hair is a mess of curls laying in waves on his shoulders and back, intertwined with He Xuan's hair. His bangs fall to the forehead and conceal half of the scars on his eyelid. He Xuan's hands tingle with a sudden irresistible urge to place the disheveled strand away. In the daylight, his feature and body curves are highlighted against the rest of the room, as if glowing from inside. The bedsheet covers his legs in soft wrinkles and Hua Cheng looks like a statue carved out of stone.
He looks untouchable.
He Xuan with a flowing motion reaches for his face to prove himself wrong, and reverently takes his cheek in the palm. Hua Cheng sluggishly closes his eye and angles his head, drawing to the touch with a content sigh. The corners of his lips raised a little when he slyly squints, glancing at He Xuan, and turns his head in a surprisingly swift movement, fleetingly touching his inner palm with lips and lingering over his wrist.
Hua Cheng's face makes such a smug expression that He Xuan immediately wants to erase it. He gives in to the brief impulse, quickly placing his lips on Hua Cheng's and hides a spreading smile in the pillow, ignoring displeased grunts. Hua Cheng responds playfully like a dazed kitten, poking his nose into He Xuan's neck until he begins to peck the throat with short, quick kisses.
He Xuan unintentionally released a barely perceptible moan and rolled over onto his side, struggling to calm his racing heartbeat. He places his hands on Hua Cheng's waist, lightly scratching the delicate skin with his clawed fingernails. Hua Cheng's body, swollen from a long night's sleep, arched pliantly under He Xuan's palms. There is no passion in it, only familiar warmth and matinee softness.
He Xuan thinks that he could wake up like this for the rest of his life, and something in his heart falls right into place with a silent snap at the thought.
Much later, when they are finally ready to get out of bed, Hua Cheng gives the weary He Xuan a last sweet kiss on the lips before getting up and heading out to prepare breakfast, and He Xuan unconsciously grabs his hand, attempting to hold him. Hua Cheng still sitting on the bed turns and steadily intertwines their fingers and without averting his eyes brings his hand to the lips-they are stretched into a smile, but his gaze is extremely severe as he says, "Take your time, my love, I'll be waiting for you."
He Xuan cannot find it in himself not to have faith in him. He knows Hua Cheng will be awaiting him. After all, that's what has brought them to each other.
When the routine noise begins to echo from the kitchen, He Xuan cautiously lifts himself up on his elbows and sits on the edge of the bed. The world around him is spinning slightly, and He Xuan shuts his eyes, in an attempt to stop it.
Stop himself.
Breathe in, breathe out.
He opens his eyes, his hands don't shake anymore, though he still has the ghostly heat of Hua Cheng. The desire to once again be able to feel the soft skin under his fingertips and lips is overwhelming and almost knocks him off his feet. He Xuan forces himself to stop.
And then he remembers.
He doesn't have to stop himself any longer if he wants something. Especially not this.
He tries anyway, getting up and grooming in the bathroom, before returning to the bedroom to look around crucially for a shirt. The loft is warm enough to walk around without one, as Hua Cheng does, wearing only briefs. He was also the one who insisted on choosing a warm studio with heated floors, well aware that He Xuan is constantly running cold. Yet He Xuan still feels like pulling something on top of him.
He feels vulnerable and is instantly mad at himself for it because he knows that he doesn't need defense, not in their own house, not with Hua Cheng, not now and not ever thereafter.
Still, the small, timid wounded part of him is irrationally insecure, and he goes along with it, as he always has. He Xuan knows that Hua Cheng would encourage him to do exactly the same, completely understanding and respecting his personal boundaries.
At the idea of this, He Xuan is somewhat relieved.
Hua Cheng has this kind of power over him — a tremendous incomprehensible power — and it might even be eerie if He Xuan hadn't already entrusted him his bleeding heart in the bloody hands.
Same old story — long ago and untrue — he was young, he had lost everything, his family had perished one by one, and he couldn't find his way out of this maze of anguish, and vengeance was supposed to be his end, and he drowned all the guilty of his family's death in blood and was willing to sink after them, except that Hua Cheng refused to let him.
Hua Cheng — red on red, red on black, sharp lines and a sharp mind — reached out to him and picked him up piece by piece, carefully concealed him from the world and granted him time to recover.
Hua Cheng made him the man he is now, and all his sharp edges and all his vicious words and actions are ironed out by Hua Cheng's treatment. In the past, He Xuan was an incandescent sword and struck everyone who came too close without distinction. Only Hua Cheng managed to stop him, to train him control his anger, not to submit to it, but to use it for his own purposes.
Sometimes it seems to He Xuan that Hua Cheng's love has shaped him as a person and bestowed on him a renewed hope.
Sometimes he doesn't hesitate at all.
A gust of wind swings the window wider, and He Xuan shudders with his wet aftershower hair sticking unpleasantly to the back of his neck. He shakes off flashbacks, crawling out of them like out of old skin. They have been bringing nothing but unrelenting grief for so many years now and He Xuan cannot find closure to this grief. He doesn't even try anymore.
All his shirts were stuffed at the bottom of the box. They both were so occupied that they had no time to look through their closet. A glimpse of red flashes in the corner of his vision, and without a second thought, He Xuan dips his hand behind the dresser to draw out Hua Cheng's shirt. It's spacious, several sizes larger than his own, and it reaches mid-thigh, but He Xuan nevertheless feels shielded when he throws it over his shoulders.
It takes him a moment to recognize the scent coming from the shirt. Light echoes of sandalwood, muscat, and thyme remain on the collar, and He Xuan snuggles into it for a second, recollecting the perfume Hua Cheng favors, and eventually calms down.
The flavor of freshly brewed coffee drifts from the kitchen, and He Xuan silently walks out of the bedroom, carefully stepping around the unwrapped furniture and boxes until he approaches the kitchen area. He leans his shoulder against the wall, folds his arms across the chest, and takes a moment to appreciate the view.
Their kitchen is minimal furnished, they merely purchased a refrigerator and installed a stove with a sideboard while moving in, but the room still looks bright and spacious. He Xuan doesn't feel like a cornered animal in places like this, and their apartment is a safe haven for him.
He is humming quietly to himself, barefoot in the kitchen, in shorts and hair in a messy bun, and Hua Cheng, as if sensing his presence, pauses immediately, switches off the stove and turns to face him, giving undivided attention. His breath hitches at the sight of his own shirt on He Xuan. He Xuan's hair is loose and falling down over his shoulders, the unbuttoned shirt is carelessly thrown over his naked body and hardly covers the boxer-clad thighs, his posture is casually relaxed, the expression is groggy and mildly weary, the traces of marks from last night appearing under the collar.
Hua Cheng smirks rather smugly, squinting appraisingly.
He leisurely approaches He Xuan and rests his hands on the waist, lightly squeezing it through the fabric, feeling the pliant body beneath his hands. He lowers his head and nuzzles into He Xuan's throat, lightly caressing the marks from the night before with his lips. Hua Cheng soundly inhales and senses the blended scent of his cologne and the fragrance of He Xuan's sea salt shampoo. He Xuan moves forward in response, sliding his palms over Hua Cheng's forearms before wrapping the arms around his neck and resting his head on the shoulder.
They're basically the same height, Hua Cheng is taller only a couple of inches, and so staying that way is comfortable for both. They hold each other long enough to make them feel complete once again.
He Xuan is frightened that this moment is about to end, that's why he's the first to break the silence, pulling away and dragging Hua Cheng to the table. Former objectively grumbles under his breath but still obediently sets eggs on the plates while He Xuan settles comfortably at the table and rests his head on outstretched hands in front of him. Golden eyes observe every movement intently, and Hua Cheng amusedly yet annoyedly rolls his while setting coffee mugs on the table and placing a peck on He Xuan's temple.
He Xuan mutters grudgingly but puts up with it, ducking into the coffee mug. Hua Cheng's lips spread into a smile as he sits down beside him and just stares, not touching the plate because he knows it's going to be snatched under his nose anyway. So it goes and Hua Cheng doesn't even bother to stop He Xuan when he cheekily snatches away other's portion as well with his pale long fingers.
A comfortable silence falls over the kitchen. A front strand of hair drops in front of He Xuan's eyes, and Hua Cheng absently reaches out to pull it back. He Xuan unconsciously leans into his palm, and they both freeze in surprise, eyes wide open. Their plates are empty, the coffee in Hua Cheng's cup is lukewarm, and he asks if He Xuan is feeling tired.
There are days when it's harder for him to get his act together and regain the nerve to do routine chores. Hua Cheng dotes on him by doing things on his own.
He Xuan has no strength to reply, only inclines his head in agreement and Hua Cheng with an effort pulls away, rises from the chair and carries the utensils to the sink. He turns around, finding He Xuan half-lying on the counter with eyes closed, and gently taps on the shoulder, drawing his attention. He Xuan blinks drowsily and extends his hands toward Hua Cheng half asleep, receiving a quiet chuckle and amused, "Needy".
Hua Cheng docilely lets his arms wrap around the back of his neck and his legs straddling the lap, hugging He Xuan in return and effortlessly lifting him up, balancing on the hip. Keeping their posture intact, they make it to the bedroom. Hua Cheng carefully and protectively carries He Xuan on his hip, his head on the shoulder, his chilly nose nipping at right collarbone, sending an abrupt shiver down his spine.
They land smoothly on the bed, Hua Cheng hovering over He Xuan on the elbows, his hair separating the rest of the world like opaque curtain, leaving them all alone. Their legs intertwine and skin is in contact. The drapes are partially closed, a subtle dimness reigns in the room.
Hua Cheng leans in intimately close, not breaking eye contact. Their breaths mingle for several moments.
"May I kiss you?"
He Xuan gives tiny nod without a blink. His golden eyes glow in the darkness.
It is impossible to tell who moves first but they meet halfway. They always do.
He Xuan's fingertips tremble when he gently cups Hua Cheng's face. The latter smiles into the kiss without breaking it. Any doubts are chased away with kisses.
When they finally separate from each other to catch their breath, He Xuan looks absolutely wrecked, and Hua Cheng blithely kisses him on the bridge of the nose, trails with his lips over hollow cheek, covering his throat with butterfly kisses and travels down to his shoulders.
He tilts his head back on the cushion, exposing his neck, and Hua Cheng's hair slides smoothly down He Xuan's cheek. His hand calmingly massages the nape of the neck. He Xuan opens his eyes for a brief moment and goes still. Hua Cheng looks like a daydream, like best of dreams come true, with bright kiss-swollen lips, disheveled hair, and dilated pupils. He Xuan is unable to look away from him, unable to get enough of him.
Years pass, yet he still finds himself not enough, and scared that one day he'll wake up and Hua Cheng won't be around, and their story altogether turns into butterflies, while they become dust and fill up He Xuan's mind, abandoning him barren and hollow.
Hua Cheng nudges his nose against the collarbone, and He Xuan gasps, blinking away vague premonitions. Their hands collide, Hua Cheng's long pretty fingers trailing the lines on his palms, intertwining with Xuan's fingers.
"I'm tired," He Xuan whispers. A kiss was pressed into his hair. He moves closer, snuggling against the warm body, and all passion vanishes, leaving behind a spilled fondness in the air. The bedsheets underneath his body are sleek and cool. A shudder runs through him, so He Xuan nestles against Hua Cheng's chest and looks up. Hua Cheng's eye sparkles through darkness, the scars on the other one almost invisible. His arms are folded firmly around He Xuan's shoulders and their legs are tangled beneath the bedsheets. At this moment, there is nothing left but the two of them.
He Xuan thinks, oh, that's it.
I can never look away now that I saw you.
Hua Cheng curls around He Xuan in a protective gesture, shielding with his own body. The whole world concentrates in the hands enveloped He Xuan and fades away.
//
They are in some shady alley, surrounded on all sides, barely out of the chase after a gunfight. He Xuan is on his knees trying to catch his breath and regain his senses when perfectly polished leather shoes enter his view. He looks up.
Hua Cheng holds out his hand, and it is clean.
He Xuan looks at his own, and they are covered in blood.
He still reaches out one in return. It barely trembles when he is lifted from the ground in a curt, confident motion and never released again.
//
Hua Cheng gently lifts him from the floor, scooping him up under knees and supporting his back. He Xuan quivers after another seizure, and he stiffens at first, then crumples in Hua Cheng's arms.
He is nineteen when he becomes official part of the city's leading underworld gang, the Ghosts. After he and Hua Cheng had intertwined their fingers in a handshake, everything has changed. He Xuan escaped the maze of remembrance and remorse. Leaves behind the first nineteen years of his life but not before revenge on entire Shi clan. Not without the assistance of the Ghosts and their leader.
Hua Cheng only grins ravenously and satisfied at He Xuan as he returns from the Shi Mansion for the last time.
The mansion no longer exists.
Neither does the Shi clan.
Satisfaction bursts into He Xuan's chest and immediately burns away, leaving behind a lingering unpleasant taste of ash and sorrow. His mouth is dry and bitter.
Hua Cheng can see right through him and offers his hand, inviting him to follow.
He Xuan tilts his head and allows himself to be led.
Hua Cheng's trust falls into his palms, and he justifies and repays it entirely. No more change because there is nothing to change. Because there is no reason to change something.
//
Hua Cheng places a kiss on his temple.
Hua Cheng shoots somebody behind He Xuan, saving him.
Hua Cheng buys an atrociously awful red apron that says, "Kiss the Cook," and then with a devilish grin cooks meals only while wearing it for an entire month.
Hua Cheng calls He Xuan his Prince Black Water and introduces to his subordinates as a brilliant sniper, irreplaceable informer and second in the gang after Hua Cheng himself, and then watches contently as everyone bows their heads in acknowledgement of the latest addition to the gang.
Hua Cheng carefully bandages his wrist, after a nasty injury in training.
Hua Cheng—
nothing stays except him.
And for He Xuan, God knows, it's enough.
Something vivid flashes under Hua Cheng's closed eyelid and curls up soothingly inside his temples as he covers them both with a blanket and leans his forehead against another's.
He Xuan could feel his thoughts beginning to repeat each other, encircling themselves, and lets fatigue overpower him, closing eyes and relaxing in the circle of Hua Cheng's arms.
They lie so close that their breaths mingle, remaining only sound in the night silence of the bedroom.
"I feel like I have been chasing you my whole life," is the last thing He Xuan hears before dream begins to drag him away.
He unintelligibly mumbles to himself, idly resisting sleep.
"You've got me. But I've met you halfway."
Hua Cheng's corners twitch slightly as he brushes against He Xuan's lips with his own.
"Yeah, I've got you."