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How lucky, Hua Cheng thinks as Xie Lian stirs in their bed, unconsciously seeking closer contact in the early morning chill. Their legs entwine, and Xie Lian makes a small, sleepy noise. Hua Cheng closes an arm around him, chuckling lightly, pressing a kiss to his brow.
Barely a few weeks have passed since his return. Although life has smoothly fallen into place, Hua Cheng can’t see himself ever getting used to it—nor does he want to. He can never not marvel at everything he gets to share with Xie Lian; his time, his life, his body, his laughter. . . Hua Cheng accepts it all as a precious gift, wondering what he’ll be blessed with next.
But, his favourite part of it all so far, must be this; Xie Lian opening his eyes, drowsy and squinting in the yellow dawn, yet smiling brightly, as though there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than waking up in Hua Cheng’s embrace.
It’s still so new. So beautiful.
How lucky, indeed.
Xie Lian rouses, arms and legs stretching like a cat before curling up on themselves.
“San Lang. . .” he mumbles. He blinks an eye open, finding Hua Cheng looming over him, his cheek propped on his hand.
“Good morning, beloved.”
Xie Lian yawns into the back of his hand. He gazes fuzzily at him, his brow slightly furrowed in thought. Hua Cheng raises a questioning eyebrow in response.
But Xie Lian doesn’t say anything; his features smooth over once more, and his head seems to sink further into the pillow. Here comes the smile Hua Cheng had been eagerly waiting for. With it, Xie Lian tilts his chin up in a silent, shy request; one that Hua Cheng wouldn’t even think of refusing. He gladly obliges, kissing him softly.
“Gege talked a lot in his sleep,” he teases, speaking quietly still.
“I did?” Xie Lian flushes. “What did I say?”
“Utterly shameful things. Who knew gege’s mind harbored such unspeakable thoughts?”
Although Xie Lian seems worried for a second, he quickly composes himself and narrows his eyes. “You’re lying.”
Hua Cheng laughs. “I am. You just said my name. Made cute little sounds. Gege is quite adorable when he sleeps.”
Xie Lian huffs humorously, turning his back on him. Hua Cheng takes the opportunity to kiss his shoulder blades, the nape of his neck, which soon turns red under the attention. Xie Lian doesn’t stay like this for long, eventually turning back around.
“When I fall asleep, you’re watching me,” he remarks. “And when I wake up, you still are.”
Hua Cheng moves a lock of hair away from Xie Lian’s forehead. “Does it bother you?”
“No, not at all,” Xie Lian hurries to reassure. He scoots nearer again, unable to stay away. “It’s just, technically I don’t need to sleep either, so if you stay awake, perhaps I should, too?”
“But gege likes to sleep?”
“Well. . .”
“I love watching you fall asleep, and I love watching you wake up even more. You shouldn’t stop for my sake.”
“Ah, I do like it very much.” Xie Lian lets out a sigh. With his face pressed as it is against Hua Cheng’s chest, his voice comes out muffled. “Until last year, I wouldn’t always be able to sleep, even if I needed to. And when I did, I rarely had restful nights.”
Hua Cheng’s heart aches. Xie Lian spent so many years alone—perhaps he wouldn’t have, if Hua Cheng had managed to find him sooner. However he knows Xie Lian wouldn’t want him to blame himself, and focus on the present instead.
“Would gege like this San Lang to accompany him in his sleep?”
“I’d love watching you wake up as well,” Xie Lian admits. “And it’d be nice to really sleep together—San Lang. Quit it with that look. You know what I mean.” Through his increasing blush, he continues, “Unless you mind, in which case, forget I brought this up.”
“No, it’s alright. If that’s something you’d like to share with me, I’ll gladly do so.” Hua Cheng nuzzles the top of Xie Lian’s head. “Pray gege does not blame me should this one act inappropriately. Maybe I’m too unbearable in the morning.”
Xie Lian chuckles. “I’m not worried—I can handle you just fine.”
Hua Cheng grins cheekily. “That’s right.”
Shoving his shoulder weakly, Xie Lian pulls back with an enamored shake of his head, before snuggling against Hua Cheng’s chest once again.
They laze about for a little longer, Xie Lian idly playing with Hua Cheng’s long, slender fingers as he talks, making him open and close his hand, until he suddenly sits up with determination.
“Come on, let’s get up.”
Hua Cheng makes a face, his arm still slung around Xie Lian’s waist. “But we’re so comfortable?”
Xie Lian doesn’t listen to him, easily slipping out of his grasp. He then grabs Hua Cheng’s wrists and attempts to drag him out of bed, though he doesn’t use his full strength; Xie Lian could easily pick him up and whisk him away if he so wished. Not that Hua Cheng would mind.
“I kissed you, but gege didn’t kiss me,” he pouts. “How can this San Lang find the strength to get up without gege’s kisses?”
Xie Lian glares at him, but it is nothing but fond; Hua Cheng can tell from the slight curve of his lips, threatening to break into a full smile.
“You promised Quan Yizhen you would work on nurturing Yin Yu’s soul today,” Xie Lian reminds him.
Hua Cheng groans. “What about my soul? Does it not also deserve to be nurtured? Come back to bed.”
Xie Lian tugs wordlessly on his wrists.
“Fine. Only because you care so much.”
Xie Lian gives him a knowing look. Hua Cheng sighs; no later than the day before, he called for Yin Yu out of habit. He’d been surprised to feel so conflicted when he hadn’t shown up. Of course, it hadn’t escaped Xie Lian’s sharp attention.
Thus, Hua Cheng stops resisting.
Like this, he lets himself be dragged out of the bed, stumbling up and into Xie Lian’s arms.
❀
Hua Cheng awakes. His heart beats an irregular, fast-paced tempo, mirroring the way it blocked out any sound in his dream. He silently gasps, as if through the distress, he remembers first and foremost not to alarm Xie Lian.
Xie Lian.
Hua Cheng opens his eye, which darts frantically around, only calming down when he sees him, feels him curled up against his chest.
He delicately gathers him in his embrace.
Hua Cheng doubts he’ll find sleep again tonight but, at least. . . at least, Xie Lian is here. He’s warm and safe and the only sound he makes comes from his steady breath. No tears, no blood, no screams.
But, right as Hua Cheng closes his eye with a relieved sigh, having managed to battle the hazy images of his nightmare to the back of his mind, Xie Lian’s voice rises in an alert whisper. He shifts, raising his head, incredibly awake for someone who was dead with sleep only seconds ago.
“Your heart. It was beating.”
Hua Cheng glances at him. The whites of his eyes are visible in the darkness, and a serious line marks his forehead. “Does it not, sometimes?”
Xie Lian purses his lips worryingly. “Yes, but not like this.”
“Don’t worry,” Hua Cheng soothes. “It's nothing.” Seeing Xie Lian is about to protest, he quickly adds, “It was just a bad dream.”
Xie Lian searches his expression for a moment. “. . . Okay. But you can tell me about it if you need to, alright?”
“I know.”
Xie Lian gives a small nod. He takes the initiative to wrap his arms around Hua Cheng, keeping him close.
They settle back against each other, Xie Lian striking up a conversation with details of the past year that he hasn’t spoken of yet, digging into his loneliness for the few happy moments he nonetheless experienced. When he gets a sincere laugh out of Hua Cheng, he seems reassured.
Hua Cheng waits for him to fall asleep again before holding him closer. Tighter than before. He caresses—light as a feather—the naked, smooth skin of his back and chest. Smooth as jade. There are no scars.
Like nothing ever happened.
Hua Cheng inhales deeply. He smells the floral fragrance of the oil they used in their bath the previous evening. Xie Lian is warm under his hands, his breathing relaxed and even. The smile Hua Cheng made bloom on his face earlier lingers on his lips.
Xie Lian is safe—and Hua Cheng will never. . . never let such agony be part of his life again.
The dreams weren’t too bad, the blurry images somewhat indistinguishable; but since they have started to come, while they’re less frequent than in the beginning, they have only grown in intensity.
Hua Cheng worries he won’t manage to keep them at bay much longer.
Until then, he’s not letting Xie Lian go.
❀
“San Lang! San Lang, wake up!”
Hua Cheng jolts awake. He’s clutching something warm and firm, gasping for breath he doesn’t need. The nightmare’s claws—or the fingers of long, bony hands?—attempt to stop him from escaping, holding him in the fog of their grasp even after he’s awoken. . . but that urgent, comforting voice calls him again.
His eye finds focus, and his heart calms already, just a bit.
“Gege?”
Xie Lian kisses his brow. In his fright, he doesn’t flush with the attention as he usually does. “I’m sorry, I had to wake you. You kept calling me. You were shaking. I didn’t know what else to do.”
He still is; his hands tremble despite how hard he clenches them. When he closes his eye, he sees it all again. He wraps his arms around Xie Lian in turn, keeping the desperation from the gesture as best he can.
“It was nothing. It’s alright,” Hua Cheng lies, each word leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.
He’s done nothing but lie and evade since his first nightmare a couple weeks ago. Most of the nights since have been restful and free of any dreams, but every few days, the same bone-chilling images snap him awake.
He loathes lying to Xie Lian; but how could he possibly subject him to those images, too?
However, this time was the worst one yet, and Xie Lian doesn’t let himself be convinced. He gently parts them, and looks at Hua Cheng seriously.
“San Lang. . . what did you dream of?”
“Your Highness. . .”
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Xie Lian hurriedly adds. “But I hate seeing you like this. I want to help. Would you let me help?”
Hua Cheng gazes at him quietly. The concern he sees on his face makes him choke on the new lie that was creeping up his throat.
For a long time, he doesn’t speak. Instead, he melts into Xie Lian’s embrace, as though it will make the memories disappear and the nightmares still vivid in his mind fade away. Keep the misery swirling inside him where Xie Lian can’t see it.
Eventually, he pulls back. If he’s going to say it, he shouldn’t hide. Nor should he let Xie Lian face his words alone.
Xie Lian gazes at him with loving patience. Hua Cheng knows, if he chose not to speak of it, Xie Lian wouldn’t insist, and wouldn’t blame him.
For this reason, the words suddenly come forth.
“I dream of you,” he blurts out. “Of that night. I'm powerless, and I can't help you.”
His hands tremble again. He lowers his eye, pushing the rising anguish down.
“I can’t help you.”
Xie Lian is silent, but something in his eyes shifts; a flash of pain, worry or regret, Hua Cheng cannot quite tell. Whatever it is, he hates it—hates being the cause of it.
Xie Lian reaches out to thread his fingers through his hair. Leaning down, he kisses his forehead.
“We’re okay,” he says softly—his lips brushing the skin with each word—though his voice is a little strained. “We’re alright. It was just a dream.”
‘We’. . . ? No. No, that isn’t—that isn’t right. This isn’t about him. How could this be about him? He wasn’t the one. . . the one to. . .
Hua Cheng tries to protest, but all that comes out of his mouth is a pathetic pained noise.
At that sound, Ruoye unrolls itself from Xie Lian’s arm. It glides to Hua Cheng, carefully wrapping around his wrist and rippling soothingly, but leaving him a margin to pull away.
Hua Cheng glares at it, resentment rising up his throat.
It wasn’t always just a dream. Once, it was real; the tears, the screams and blood weren’t only in his head. Why couldn’t it, back then? Why couldn’t it have gained its spirit at that moment and let Xie Lian go?
Wasn’t there enough pain?
In a flash of anger, the desperation from his dreams still clinging to his bones, he almost harshly pushes Ruoye away.
He stops himself at the last moment. What could have a newborn spirit done against Bai Wuxiang, anyway?
It wouldn’t have been more useful than he had been. It wasn't its fault.
It was his.
Hua Cheng curls up on himself, but Xie Lian stops him, gathering him in his arms once more, as close to his chest as he can. He murmurs sweet nothings and reassurances. Though Hua Cheng can hear him, he can’t tone down his restlessness quite yet.
“I can’t help you.”
Ruoye carries on rippling, up and down in a soothing motion. Does it feel guilty, too? How many times has it done this to Xie Lian? Offering him what little relief it could when no one else was there?
When he wasn’t there?
Hua Cheng furiously wipes the wetness on his cheeks, until Xie Lian tenderly takes his hand and does it for him.
Sometimes, there’s nothing that can make things better. But always, the past is unchangeable.
Sometimes, all one can do is offer a listening ear, and a shoulder to help carry the weight.
Xie Lian does just that: he speaks in a low voice, repeating words of comfort; he lets him cry, and then dries his tears.
“Your Highness, I’m sorry,” Hua Cheng croaks. He loathes it; feeling so weak. So vulnerable, when he should be strong. He should always be strong now, to make up for when he wasn’t.
“Why?”
“‘Why’?” A sad chuckle escapes him. “I shouldn’t—what right do I have to—”
“San Lang,” Xie Lian cuts him off. “You have every right. How many times did I awake like you did tonight? How many times did you comfort me despite your own pain? Let me take care of you, too. We’ve both suffered so much; it’s okay to ask for help.”
Xie Lian tilts his chin up, and their eyes meet. In them, Hua Cheng only sees earnest will, and unshakable love.
He doesn’t feel worthy of an ounce of it. Shouldn’t Xie Lian be the one to be offered comfort? Isn’t he the one who was tied on that altar, at the mercy of such cruelty? The one who was pierced by a hundred swords, enduring it all as Hua Cheng watched helplessly from the side, what little light that had held on in Xie Lian’s eyes snuffed out under Bai Wuxiang’s boot.
What comfort? What care? If he’d been strong enough—
But. . .
But if Xie Lian thinks so, perhaps. . .
Perhaps, it’s not about being worthy at all.
Hua Cheng chokes on a sob.
Like this, he allows himself to break.
He clutches Xie Lian; not unlike the miserable child he once was, who had hung onto the pristine robes of the Crown Prince with his dirty hands. Only now, they are bare, both in body and in spirit, all of their naked souls laid out for the other to see.
“That’s it,” Xie Lian whispers. “Don’t hold back.”
Hua Cheng gives a sad chuckle. He’s spoken those same words to Xie Lian before—but in another context entirely.
Xie Lian takes his hand, and guides it to his chest; where there are no more scars, no more suffering. Neither of them is naive enough to believe they do not hide under the surface—if anything, their dreams are proof of that—but. . . the past is far behind, and ahead there is only the peace and warmth of simple days.
He then moves to his heart.
Hua Cheng focuses on it. He listens to that steady heartbeat and, bit by bit, lets his own heart mirror the pace.
When Hua Cheng held Xie Lian’s hand, it beat for the first time in over 800 years.
Half a conscious choice on his part, half an urge to translate his excitement into something tangible; something that he could feel into his bones, and drown out his restlessness. His heart has never needed to beat, but with Xie Lian, he just feels alive.
Each time they saw each other, its empty thumping rattled through his veins, devoid of the blood it should’ve sent coursing through his limbs.
This heartbeat he’d lost for Xie Lian long ago, returned to him with Xie Lian’s presence.
Slowly, enveloped by warmth and murmured reassurance, Hua Cheng’s mind eases along that relaxing thumping. The bloody images engrossed in black fog fade, and the distress and anxiety leave their place for kinder things; softer memories and harmless wishes.
Around his wrist, Ruoye stops rippling, sliding up his arm to affectionately rub against his cheek. Hua Cheng doesn’t usually give it much attention, but this time, he acknowledges it with a light pat. Such a simple gesture, yet Ruoye seems to perk up instantly.
Hua Cheng inhales deeply, focuses on the feeling of his lungs uselessly expanding, then releases a breath.
“Is my San Lang feeling better?” comes Xie Lian’s concerned inquiry, whispered as though not to startle him.
Straightening up against the pillows, Hua Cheng answers with a chaste kiss; an unspoken thank you. He delights in the smile he feels throughout, the slight increase in the pace of Xie Lian’s heart.
He settles back, head tucked under Xie Lian’s chin.
After a while, Xie Lian asks carefully, “How long has this been going on?”
“A couple weeks, that’s all.”
Hua Cheng feels him draw in a breath. When his voice comes out, it breaks just a bit. “That’s still too much. San Lang, I could’ve helped. Why didn't you tell me?”
“I didn't want gege to be reminded of his suffering,” Hua Cheng answers in a whisper.
He gives Xie Lian’s hand a squeeze; Xie Lian squeezes back.
“My suffering was also yours. You shouldn’t have to endure it alone.”
Hua Cheng gives a small nod. He’s coming to learn that; whatever it is that weighs onto his heart, he doesn’t have to keep it to himself. Whatever his burden, Xie Lian wants to carry it with him.
Just as he would.
In the face of Xie Lian’s concern, he cannot help but take Xie Lian’s reassurance and turn it against him, “Don’t worry. It’s alright.”
Except this time, he believes every word.
“You said that before. . .” Xie Lian protests.
“I know. But listen; I dreamed of you already when I—” Hua Cheng interrupts himself. After I died. Xie Lian doesn’t need a reminder of that. “A long time ago.”
In the beginning, he would still sleep out of habit. He dreamed of Xie Lian many times back then, but he held on to too many regrets, and too much pain. He tried focusing on the good dreams, but they were so short and so few. . . One day, he stopped sleeping at all. He didn’t need it, and it wasn’t worth the precious loss of time.
He would have to see Xie Lian again when he found him.
“You did?” Xie Lian pauses, and Hua Cheng can painfully picture his eyes glazing over. “I’m sorry.”
Hua Cheng presses his knuckles to his lips, laying a kiss upon them.
“Gege, don’t. It truly is alright. It can only get better from here on out. I’m sure of it.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Xie Lian readjusts his position as he asks, taking Hua Cheng with him.
“I’m sure, because back then, I was alone.” Hua Cheng welcomes the embrace, sinking into it. “Now, I found you.”
Xie Lian gazes at him with gentle, crescent eyes. “You found me,” he repeats, delicately caressing under Hua Cheng’s missing eye with the pad of his thumb.
Hua Cheng lays his head over Xie Lian’s heart. He listens to his heartbeat, thud, thud, thud, the sound of a quiet, happy life; one Hua Cheng is determined not to let falter again.
Perhaps, in the future, there won’t be any more nightmares.
Only dreams.
As he listens, Xie Lian resumes speaking softly to him, his fingers threading through his hair. He tells him of whatever comes to his mind, and there’s nothing else Hua Cheng would rather hear.
He may not need sleep—neither of them does—but lying here like this, Hua Cheng’s eyelid is heavy.
Before it closes, it falls on the ring hanging around Xie Lian’s neck. He reaches out to it, touching it with the tip of his finger; it’s warm. It doesn’t know the cold anymore.
Hua Cheng takes one last look above him. He finds Xie Lian watching over him as he talks, as comforting as a ray of sunlight in the early morning.
The safest place on earth, indeed.