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It was quite dark when Shang Qinghua woke up. He’d thought for a moment that perhaps someone had forgotten about him and let him sleep until it was almost evening. He laid in bed for a moment as he looked out the window and watched the dark clouds move slowly across the sky, almost imperceptibly. He heard the sound of someone out in the courtyard, where the small garden was. Then he heard the sound of his brother walking past his room to head down the stairs. 

He heard the main gate open, and the sound of his brother, Shang Haoran, call out for their father. Shang Qinghua pushed himself up on his bed and then moved over to the window. He rested his hands on the windowsill and peered out. His father was walking into the courtyard with a boy beside him. Shang Haoran was moving quickly towards them, eager to see their father, whom they hadn’t seen in almost a month. 

Shang Qinghua went to change his robes as their voices wafted up, distant and hard to understand. He heard his father say his name, but he could not hear much more. Shortly after hearing his name, he stepped outside of his room and made his way down across the balcony and down the stairs, somewhat blocked by the trees lining the courtyard. 

He met the three of them at the entrance of the main room, where they greeted guests. “Father,” Shang Qinghua murmured, ducking his head before straightening and looking back at the boy who was standing beside him. 

The boy looked back at him. He was taller than Shang Qinghua and Shang Haoran both. His clothes were worn and dirty, and his hair was loose and somewhat tangled. Shang Qinghua met his gaze. He’d only just woken, so he didn’t imagine that he looked well kept either. 

“Qinghua,” Shang Yuxuan said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “This is Mobei Jun.”

Shang Qinghua looked back at him. Mobei Jun had hardly moved, but his gaze stayed on Shang Qinghua. He bowed his head again. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Mobei Jun responded, voice a little cold and his posture stiff. 

Shang Qinghua looked back at his father. 

“I met him while I was away,” Shang Yuxuan said. “He was on the streets. We can house and feed him—we have plenty of space.” He glanced around the estate, almost grandiose, and too proud. 

“Yes, I suppose so,” Shang Qinghua murmured. He glanced at Shang Haoran, who was looking at Mobei Jun with distinct distaste. He frowned and looked back at Mobei Jun. 

“You both will show him the estate. And take him to the guest rooms. He can pick which one he likes.” Shang Yuxuan removed his hand from Mobei Jun’s shoulder and turned to leave without saying anymore. 

“Hm,” Shang Haoran said. He began walking and gestured for the two of them to follow. “Come on.”

Shang Qinghua looked at Mobei Jun again and then glanced behind him at the clouds. It was going to rain. They wouldn’t be able to show him the entirety of the estate until it passed.

Mobei Jun did not move when Shang Haoran began walking, so Shang Qinghua stepped beside him and nodded in the direction of the guest rooms. “Come on,” he murmured.

Shang Qinghua began walking and Mobei Jun followed behind him. He was almost at Shang Qinghua’s side, but just far enough back that Shang Qinghua had to tilt his head to make sure he was still there. 

“I’m Shang Qinghua,” he said quietly. Shang Haoran was several paces ahead of them, not bothering to wait or engage in any small talk whatsoever. “And you’re Mobei Jun?”

Mobei Jun hummed an affirmative. 

Shang Qinghua glanced over at him. “Did my father really just meet you and bring you back here?”

“Something like that,” Mobei Jun said. 

“What happened?” Shang Qinghua asked curiously, rounding the corner column and looking over at Mobei Jun again. He had sharp features, but still looked somewhat young. Shang Qinghua couldn’t tell how close in age they were. Mobei Jun had the roundness of youth, but the expression of an adult. 

“I helped him dislodge the wheel of his carriage when it got caught in the mud,” Mobei Jun said. He glanced at Shang Qinghua, and his eyes were sharp.

Shang Qinghua smiled a little and looked back at Shang Haoran, who stepped through a set of doors that led to the small bundle of guest rooms. “And he was so grateful he took you home?”

“He took me to a meal,” Mobei Jun said. 

Shang Qinghua stepped inside with Mobei Jun and came to a stop where Shang Haoran was waiting. “Oh,” he said, voice tapering off when Shang Haoran turned to look at them. 

He gestured vaguely to the rooms around them. “Go ahead and look around,” he said coldly. He looked Mobei Jun up and down. “I’ll see if there’s any way we can get you some new robes…”

Shang Qinghua scowled at him, but Shang Haoran did not offer him a glance as he swept back out of the room. 

“Charming, isn’t he?” Shang Qinghua asked, once he was gone. He looked back at Mobei Jun. 

Mobei Jun’s lips twitched and he gave a half-hearted shrug.

Shang Qinghua looked around. “You can pick any room you want, like they said. Feel free to poke around.”

Mobei Jun did not move.

Shang Qinghua pursed his lips and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “So my father brought you to a meal and he decided to bring you back after that?”

“I suppose. I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing here.”

“An orphan?” Shang Qinghua asked. 

Mobei Jun nodded. 

“Hm…” Shang Qinghua sighed. He stepped around Mobei Jun and opened one of the guest rooms. It was likely that his father had seen the opportunity for free help, and he’d proven his usefulness with the wheel, so it meant that Mobei Jun was strong. And there would be no one to argue with the proposition. “Let’s look at this room first. It’s the smallest.”

Mobei Jun turned to follow him. 

Shang Qinghua stepped into the center of the room and looked over at him. “What do you think?”

“This is fine,” he said.

Shang Qinghua smiled and walked back over to his side. He nudged him with his shoulder. “Let’s look at the other ones first before you make a decision.”

Mobei Jun’s eyebrows twitched inward.

“Come on,” Shang Qinghua said. He stepped through the doors again. 

He took Mobei Jun through each of the rooms and tried to point out their differences, but Mobei Jun seemed fairly neutral on each one. He nodded when Shang Qinghua noted a unique feature, and he blinked owlishly when Shang Qinghua asked any open-ended question about his opinion of it. 

Shang Qinghua eventually refused to let him off the hook and told him he’d have to pick for himself. Mobei Jun didn’t seem to like that. His lips pressed into a tight line as he looked at him.

“You can think about it,” Shang Qinghua told him. 

“All of them are fine. I don’t need to think about it.”

Shang Qinghua walked over to him and before he could help himself, he reached out with both hands to pat away some lingering dust from Mobei Jun’s travels. He smoothed his hands against the rough fabric and found himself disgusted that anyone would have to wear clothing like this. He was glad Mobei Jun had come, so he didn’t have to beg for food, or hide away somewhere so that he didn’t get wet when it rained. He thought of the rainclouds above that were waiting to release their torrent, and he thought about how the same rain would have soaked into Mobei Jun if it hadn’t been for his coming. A sudden urge to keep and to care swept over Shang Qinghua. His hands were gentle on Mobei Jun’s chest.

Mobei Jun was frozen still, staring down at him with an expression that was desperately trying to look very blank. 

Shang Qinghua met his gaze, but found himself distracted by the rest of his face. He was quite good looking. He reached up and swiped his thumb along a somewhat dirty spot on his cheek. “Would you like me to pick for you?”

Mobei Jun did not seem to know what to do about being touched. He nodded.

Shang Qinghua smiled, charmed. “I think you should stay in this one that we’re in right now,” he murmured. “It’s the one closest to me.”

__________

Sometimes Mobei Jun would disappear. Shang Qinghua would wake in the morning, and he’d go to Mobei Jun’s room. He had been rising earlier ever since Mobei Jun came. Before, he’d never really had a reason to peel himself from his bed. Now, he found it difficult to find the willpower to lie down. 

The first time Shang Qinghua had found Mobei Jun gone, he had panicked. He’d thought that maybe he’d run away. It wouldn’t have surprised him necessarily, though it was the very last thing he wanted to happen. He’d gone to look for him anyway, even if Mobei Jun was already miles away. 

He combed the grounds of the estate, hardly refraining from calling for him. He searched every room, ever crevice, every hiding spot that he himself had found throughout his childhood. But eventually, he’d found Mobei Jun, out in the plains behind the estate. He was lying underneath a tree, eyes shut and face tilted towards the sunrise. The overcast clouds covered the light of the sun, but there was a portion of the gray sky that seemed just a bit lighter than the rest, where the sun was hidden by the blanket of the rain.

Shang Qinghua had only known him a few weeks at that point, but it didn’t stop him from making his way through the tall grass and lying down beside him. He pillowed his head on his arm as he looked at Mobei Jun’s face. If Mobei Jun had known he was there from the beginning, he did not let on. But he did, after a few moments, open his eyes and blink down at Shang Qinghua. 

“Good morning,” Shang Qinghua had said, voice low and warm. 

“It’s starting to get cold out,” Mobei Jun had responded, as if that would be a deterrent. 

“Oh?” Shang Qinghua asked, fingers flexing, tickled by the grass. “I didn’t notice.”

Mobei Jun’s lips parted on a response, but then he shut them again. He turned fully onto his side to face Shang Qinghua, too. 

“What are you doing out here, if it’s so cold?” Shang Qinghua murmured. 

“It’s easier to sleep outside,” he said.

Shang Qinghua nodded a little. “Well, alright then. But you have to promise that when it gets to be too cold, you’ll stay inside, even if it’s difficult to sleep.”

“Alright,” Mobei Jun agreed, voice muffled in the sound of the wind. 

Shang Qinghua had smiled at him and shut his eyes to go back to sleep.

Mobei Jun slept in the house most of the time, but as time dragged on, he kept returning back to the grass, underneath that tree. Shang Qinghua always followed. He always waited and listened in his bed, straining to hear footsteps making their way out of the courtyard. 

Shang Qinghua had gone to watch him once. He watched Mobei Jun climb up over the short wall and he heard the soft thud when Mobei Jun’s feet connected to the ground below. He did it so that the gate wouldn’t creak and no one would be alerted to his departure. He was only just now learning that it took much less than a creak in the gate to notify Shang Qinghua of his coming and going. Shang Qinghua began to follow him. And in the summer, when it was warm enough to sleep outside without becoming ill, Shang Qinghua would go and sleep with him. 

Then time continued to drag on, and when Shang Qinghua would shiver, Mobei Jun would pull him into his arms to keep him warm. And when it was much too cold to sleep outside, Shang Qinghua would follow him anyway, until the sound of Shang Qinghua’s chattering teeth coaxed Mobei Jun back inside. Those nights, Shang Qinghua refused to let go, and Mobei Jun would lie down with him on his bed and chase away the rest of the chill that the cold air had left lingering on Shang Qinghua’s skin. 

__________

Shang Qinghua was standing on the other end of the courtyard, frozen as he watched Mobei Jun trying to quietly climb down from the wall. They’d just come home, but Mobei Jun had stayed behind. He was meant to be practicing reading, but it was clear that he’d just come back from wandering out in the forest. 

He glanced over his shoulder to make sure that his father and brother hadn’t seen yet. “Oh, I’m terribly thirsty,” he cried, drawing their gazes to where he was standing to the side. From this angle, they wouldn’t see Mobei Jun slipping back into his room. 

Shang Haoran just looked at him blandly. Shang Yuxuan did not say anything or make any expression. 

“I’m parched!” Shang Qinghua cried again, starting to walk over to kitchens to get a cup of water. He glanced over surreptitiously and saw Mobei Jun slip inside his room. He turned back to head towards the kitchens. 

“I’ll go check on Mobei,” Shang Yuxuan said, turning around to head towards his room. 

Shang Qinghua paused and turned to look at his father. He was already walking away. He felt defensive. If it was obvious Mobei Jun hadn’t been working on his reading, Shang Yuxuan would be angry. He chewed on his lip and went to follow after him, but Shang Haoran caught his arm. 

“I thought you were thirsty,” he said, eyeing him suspiciously. 

“I was,” Shang Qinghua said innocently, tugging out of his grip. “I want to see Mobei first.”

Shang Haoran’s scowl deepened. He did not like Mobei Jun. 

Shang Qinghua hurried past him and to Mobei Jun’s room. The door was left open when his father had entered, so he heard them before he saw them. 

“—just not very good at it.”

Shang Qinghua frowned. Mobei Jun sounded defensive. 

His father was speaking as he rounded the corner. “It doesn’t matter if it comes naturally or not. That doesn’t mean that you can just give up.”

Shang Qinghua stepped into the room. He found Mobei Jun immediately, kneeling next to a desk by the window. His papers were in front of him, and they looked untouched. 

“Qinghua, I thought you were getting water,” Shang Yuxuan said, somewhat dry.

Shang Qinghua glanced at him and then went to kneel beside Mobei Jun. “Yes, but I wanted to see Mobei first.”

Shang Yuxuan huffed and turned to leave. “You two may as well be glued to the other’s side. Enjoy one another’s company while it lasts.”

Shang Qinghua frowned after him. He’d said it like it was inevitable that this would end. The implication settled like a brick. Once he was far enough away, Shang Qinghua turned to face Mobei Jun, fingers twitching restlessly. “What were you doing outside?”

“Just walking around,” Mobei Jun murmured. 

“I wish you had come with us. It was boring without you.”

Mobei Jun looked up at him and reached out to hold his face for a moment. He let go. He gathered his papers and went to go set them aside. 

Shang Qinghua stood to follow after him. He wrapped his arms around his waist and pouted up at him, pulling him to a stop. “And you went looking around without me.”

“I don’t like sitting around the house when you’re not here,” Mobei Jun muttered, lifting his arm so he could wrap it around him. 

Shang Qinghua moved to pull him out of the room. “Come to the kitchens with me for a snack.”

“Alright,” Mobei Jun said. His voice was low and quiet. Shang Qinghua had missed him, and he needed to be with him. He’d said he needed water, and really, Mobei Jun was his water. He was his water and his food and the air he breathed and the sun on his skin and the cooling wind that followed after it.

Shang Qinghua reached up and turned Mobei Jun’s face to his. He brought it down, until their foreheads were pressed together. He breathed in, and then moved to pull him out of the room.

__________

As they got older, the less tolerance they were given. Particularly by Shang Haoran, who had little to no patience with Mobei Jun to begin with. Their father was still somewhat indulgent of Mobei Jun, but aside from Shang Qinghua, he was really the only one. The servants did not like Mobei Jun, but they didn’t like Shang Qinghua either. 

Food would go missing from the kitchen in the middle of the night, there were always broken decorations, or marks along the outside wall. Whenever one of them was needed, it was impossible to find them. 

Many mornings had passed in which they were found sleeping in the other’s bed. No one told them to stop, and they wouldn’t have even if they were. There were mornings when neither were in bed, for they’d spent the night outside, under the tree. Shang Qinghua always found himself wishing that it was warmer at night, so they could stay out there longer. As time had gone by, he found that Mobei Jun was right that it was sometimes just easier to sleep outside. Though a quickly developing theory of Shang Qinghua’s was that he just liked being with Mobei Jun, away from others.

When Shang Haoran was marrying age, he’d already met and been betrothed to someone. She was from a wealthy family, and she was kind and thoughtful from what Shang Qinghua had seen of her. Sometimes both his brother and his father would look at him somewhat expectantly, like they were waiting for him to announce that he had some sort of girl on his mind. It seemed as though they did not understand that if Shang Qinghua had gone somewhere, he was with Mobei Jun. 

If Mobei Jun was out tending to the animals or doing grounds upkeep, Shang Qinghua was with him. He did not plan on telling them this, because if he did, they might make him stop, or urge him to go look for a woman to marry.

One evening, Shang Qinghua was leaning against Mobei Jun as they ate dinner together. Shang Haoran had already given him his nightly glare, so he was busy staring at his own food, not sparing either of them a glance as Shang Yuxuan began to speak. 

“Qinghua,” he began, calculatingly polite.

Shang Qinghua turned his head from where it was pressed into Mobei Jun’s shoulder. “Hm?” He murmured.

“Have you met anyone yet?” He asked. “You’ve gone into town an awful lot recently.”

He hadn’t. He’d been out helping Mobei Jun clean out the stables. He turned back to look at his food and nuzzled into Mobei Jun’s arm. “Met anyone?”

“Anyone you’d like to settle down with,” Shang Yuxuan clarified. “Any young woman catch your eye?”

Mobei Jun stiffened. Shang Qinghua turned his head to look back at his father again as his hand crept unnoticeably to Mobei Jun’s thigh. Mobei Jun, in turn, moved his hand to Shang Qinghua’s thigh and squeezed. “I’m not interested in that.”

Shang Yuxuan pursed his lips at him while Mobei Jun’s hand clenched against his leg, out of sight of Shang Yuxuan and Shang Haoran. Shang Qinghua grabbed onto it and shoved his fingers beneath Mobei Jun’s to force it to spread and let him lock their hands together. 

Shang Qinghua rested his head back against Mobei Jun’s shoulder and pushed into him again. He thought it was fairly obvious what he was interested in. He didn’t think it needed to be spelled out, so he said no more. He ignored the reproachful look Shang Haoran had given him and did not note the look of irritation that swept over his father’s features, though he knew that it was there.

That night, Mobei Jun had been upset. He’d snuck into Shang Qinghua’s room and slipped into bed with him. He dragged him close and pressed his lips to Shang Qinghua’s hair. Shang Qinghua settled into his arms without question and without confusion. He knew what Mobei Jun was thinking, the way he knew what he himself was thinking. The window was open, and a cold draft was wafting in. Mobei Jun was solid and cool to the touch. But the weight of him was warm, and Shang Qinghua felt his blood pump easier in his veins. 

Mobei Jun wore his anger in silence, like a cloak. It shrouded him and hid him and pulled him into himself, until he was ready to move and ready to do. Then it would billow around him like a raincloud. When he became upset, it meant that he would be thinking about it even when he felt calm. And if Mobei Jun thought of what upset him when he was calm, then he would not forgive and he would not forget.

Shang Qinghua’s fingers traced soothing patterns along his back as he breathed in the smell of Mobei Jun. He smelled like earth and rain and cold. Mobei Jun’s hand pressed into the center of Shang Qinghua’s back, sliding up slow and methodical until he was cradling the back of Shang Qinghua’s head. Shang Qinghua turned his face until his nose was pressed into Mobei Jun’s collarbone. 

“It's you,” Shang Qinghua murmured, once Mobei Jun’s shoulders had finally relaxed. He was sleepy now, and the cold air from the open window on his fingers made them stiff. He brought them up to warm in Mobei Jun’s hair.

Mobei Jun pressed his face to Shang Qinghua’s throat and kissed his pulse. 

Shang Qinghua tilted his head, baring more to Mobei Jun’s seeking lips. “It’s you,” he said again, more of a breath than a word.

Mobei Jun moved one of his arms to grab the blanket and pull it up over their shoulders, until their heads barely poked from underneath it. He wrapped Shang Qinghua back up into his arms and moved until their noses were slotted together. He did not kiss him, but their lips rested together. Shang Qinghua peeked his eyes open to look at him. He couldn’t really, with the darkness and the proximity. 

“Mobei,” he whispered, just to feel their lips brush. 

“Qinghua,” he whispered back. 

Shang Qinghua swallowed, hand resting on Mobei Jun’s shoulder as he pressed in closer. Their lips brushed again, and it felt like stepping through a brook when the sun was warm on his back. 

__________

Mobei Jun had tried to coax him out of bed multiple times at this point. The sun was steadily rising, and Shang Qinghua did not feel like waking. He knew what kind of conversations this day would bring, and he did not want to have them. Mobei Jun was indulgent, and he wouldn’t make Shang Qinghua do what he didn’t want to do. In fact, he wanted to attend the wedding probably even less than Shang Qinghua wanted to.

“Qinghua,” he murmured against his temple. His hand was brushing down the side of his face as he leaned over him on the bed. “We need to get ready. Someone will come to check on us soon.”

Shang Qinghua’s eyebrows pulled together. “I’m tired.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I looked outside. They’re already all dressed and ready. If you don’t get ready soon, they’ll come up. I’m surprised no one has looked for you yet.”

Shang Qinghua groaned and pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Let’s go outside,” he said. “I’ll get dressed, but I don’t want to spend any time with them. All anyone is going to ask me is when I’m getting married.”

Mobei Jun’s face darkened. He stood up and moved over to the door. “I’m going to get dressed.”

Shang Qinghua frowned and moved after him. “No,” he breathed sharply. “Aren’t you going to help me get dressed?”

Mobei Jun stopped at the door and tensed.

Shang Qinghua plastered himself to his side. “You aren’t angry with me, are you?”

“No,” Mobei Jun said tightly. 

Shang Qinghua pulled on his arm. “Stay with me. I’ll help you get dressed, too.”

Mobei Jun turned and practically marched over to the robes that had been laid out the night before. “Take your robes off.”

Shang Qinghua smiled and started to untie the robe at the waist as he walked over to Mobei Jun. As Mobei Jun unfolded the robes, Shang Qinghua stepped out of his clothes and slid the under robe on. It was nicer than the kind he normally wore. The material was lighter and softer.

Mobei Jun turned to face him as Shang Qinghua was tying it off. He looked up at him and spread his arms with a saccharine smile. Mobei Jun’s expression softened as he slid the robe over Shang Qinghua’s arm. He then stepped close to reach around and bring it up to pull over his other arm, too. As Mobei Jun adjusted it over his torso, Shang Qinghua spread his hands along Mobei Jun’s stomach and chest.

He paid Shang Qinghua little mind, though his breath was quicker than when he began.  Shang Qinghua was still and compliant as Mobei Jun tied his robes and adjusted the hems and collar. He smoothed it down, then added an ornament on the tie around Shang Qinghua’s waist. He ran his hands gently down the sides of Shang Qinghua’s waist. 

“You look nice,” he murmured, somewhat strained.

Shang Qinghua smiled and reached up to hold his face with both hands. He stroked his cheeks with his thumbs. “Thank you, dear one.”

Mobei Jun tugged him over to the chair and pressed him down. He brought Shang Qinghua’s hair back, fingers lingering on his throat as he dragged the strands back. Shang Qinghua sighed pleasantly, tipping into the touch. 

“Keep your head straight,” he said, voice endlessly gentle as he tipped Shang Qinghua’s head back into place. His hands brushed along his jaw, and down his neck, and across his shoulders.

“Only because it’s you who asked,” Shang Qinghua said, jokingly indulgent. He hummed to himself as Mobei Jun combed through his hair. The strokes were light and were practiced in their carefulness. Mobei Jun was careful to not allow it to tug. Mobei Jun brought a few pieces from the front of his face back and combed it back with some hair from the top. He gathered it up and pinned it into place with the headpiece Shang Qinghua was given and a thin jade pin. 

When he was done, Shang Qinghua swiveled around and looked up at him. He pushed himself up and leaned into Mobei Jun’s space. “All ready?”

Mobei Jun nodded. He held his face and looked at him quietly for a moment. He kissed his forehead. “Yes.”

Shang Qinghua grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the door. “Let’s get you ready then.”

“They’ll see you,” Mobei Jun pointed out. “If they see you, they’ll want you down with the rest of them for preparations.”

“I’ll hide behind you,” Shang Qinghua said lightly.

Mobei Jun’s lips quirked up as they stepped out and made their way down the steps. Shang Qinghua had been kidding, but he really did make sure to walk behind Mobei Jun while they headed down the stairs. Everyone seemed to be focused on whatever task was at hand, so they were able to quickly slip into Mobei Jun’s room unnoticed. The wedding had been planned for a dry season, but it was looking as though it was about to rain anyway. Perhaps that was what everyone was so busy with. Shang Qinghua had never minded the rain. 

Shang Qinghua felt somewhat victorious as they slid the door shut behind them. He moved over to Mobei Jun’s robes and began to do what Mobei Jun had done for him. Shang Qinghua kept his eyes on the robes before him as he heard Mobei Jun undressing behind him. He did not look, though he wanted to, and he waited until Mobei Jun had slipped on his formal inner robe the way Shang Qinghua had before he turned around. He stepped up to Mobei Jun’s side and slid the robe up over his arm and then walked over to the other side of him from the back to slip it the rest of the way on. He came back around to Mobei Jun’s front and pulled it to fold over his chest.

Mobei Jun reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair away from Shang Qinghua’s face. The tips of his fingers lingered along Shang Qinghua’s temple and down to his cheekbone. Shang Qinghua tilted his head into the touch as he tied off the robes. “Mobei,” he murmured. He didn’t have anything he wanted to say—just that. It felt like enough. Mobei Jun hummed in response.

Once he was done adjusting the robes, he reached up and swept the hair out of Mobei Jun’s face and used the movement to hold his face in his hands. He tugged Mobei Jun down to press their foreheads together for a moment. He could not chase the feeling that this would be the last taste of peace for a long time. Though they dressed in formal wedding attire, it felt more like the putting on of a sentence, as if they were standing trial.

He guided Mobei Jun over to a small stool and began to comb through Mobei Jun’s hair, a mirror of everything Mobei Jun had done for him. He kept his hands in Mobei Jun’s hair when he was finished, somewhat tangled, and rounded his side to look at his face. He knelt by Mobei Jun’s side and rested his arms on Mobei Jun’s leg. “Let’s run away,” he said.

Mobei Jun looked down at him. He stroked a hand down Shang Qinghua’s hair, caressing and feeling. “Run away?”

Shang Qinghua nodded. “Yes. Run away with me. I don’t want to go to the wedding.”

“They will look for you,” Mobei Jun murmured. “And we would not get far before they found you.”

“I adore you,” Shang Qinghua whispered, as if it was a response to Mobei Jun’s words. 

Mobei Jun moved to slide off of the stool and kneel in front of him. He held Shang Qinghua’s face in his hands as he kissed his cheek. His lips were gentle and the pressure hardly there at all. His lips lingered and trailed up to Shang Qinghua’s forehead. He kissed down the side of Shang Qinghua’s face, covering nearly every inch with his lips. There was a faint rumbling in the distance. 

Shang Qinghua’s eyes were closed, hands moving sluggishly to wrap around Mobei Jun’s wrists. His lips parted as he breathed, and he smiled. “Isn’t it funny that it would rain on my brother’s wedding day?”

Mobei Jun’s mouth hovered over Shang Qinghua’s. When he spoke, Shang Qinghua could feel him. “It’s what he deserves.”

Shang Qinghua laughed breathlessly. He tilted his head back. “You look beautiful, Mobei.”

“All else pales next to you,” Mobei Jun exhaled. His lips closed over Shang Qinghua’s bottom one. He released it a moment later. The soft noise in the quiet of his room seemed to echo, and the sound of it played over and over in Shang Qinghua’s head. 

Shang Qinghua let out a soft whine. “Mobei,” he said, feeling something like desperation lance through him. He felt afraid. He felt like water, holding but unable to grab. 

“My soul,” Mobei Jun whispered. 

Shang Qinghua wanted to ask him to run away again. The words hung in his mouth as he tried to think of a way they could get away unnoticed and not attend the wedding. He thought of running away from more than the wedding. Shang Qinghua wouldn’t mind running from a little more. 

Before he could make the request again, a voice approaching Mobei Jun’s room resounded somewhat loudly. “Mobei Jun!” One of the servants shouted. “You better be in here and Shang Qinghua better be with you, too!”

Shang Qinghua released Mobei Jun’s wrists, feeling his mood plummet even further. As the servant neared, Shang Qinghua looked back up at Mobei Jun. “Stay with me today.”

Mobei Jun caressed his face for a moment longer. “And every day following.”

Shang Qinghua felt something akin to relief, as close as he could get, when the door opened. 

“You’re both dressed,” the servant said, sounding relieved. “Come, we’re starting the ceremony soon.”

Shang Qinghua pushed himself up and waited for Mobei Jun to stand, too, before he went to leave the room. Mobei Jun followed. 

During the banquet, Shang Qinghua was not able to be near to Mobei Jun. He was closer to Shang Haoran and his bride, Yang Hien. Mobei Jun was several paces away from him. Shang Qinghua was in speaking range to several family members that he only ever saw on occasions like this, and they were all terribly curious about his marital status now that his brother was married and he was also of marrying age.

He was able to evade most of their questions and suggestions with charming smiles and laughs about how he was still much too young to consider that at this point in time. They typically laughed with him, cheerful off of too much wine and reminiscent of their own youthful days when they had a similar mindset of waiting as long as possible before having to start the rest of their lives.

Once everyone was roaming freely, Shang Qinghua was able to be near to Mobei Jun if he wanted. However, he was intercepted by his father much too quickly. 

A neighbor from another estate that wasn’t too far from their own had approached Shang Qinghua with Shang Yuxuan. Shang Qinghua felt somewhat nervous, but he bowed respectfully anyway.

“Qinghua,” Shang Yuxuan said. “You know Huang Kuo, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Shang Qinghua said, glancing between them.

“And if you remember me, you must remember my daughter,” Huang Kuo said. He pointed across the room and Shang Qinghua followed his finger to a girl similar to his age trying not to look over, though she seemed embarrassed. “Huang Jing.”

“I remember her,” Shang Qinghua said lowly, turning back to him. He and Mobei Jun had wandered through their property on many occasions. She’s been the only one to ever catch them, and she’d never told on them.

Huang Kuo tilted his head, somewhat pleased. “Good, good.”

“We’ve been talking for the past few months,” Shang Yuxuan said, reaching out to place a hand on Shang Qinghua’s shoulder. It felt like a shackle. “And since you haven’t found with the ladies in our town, we thought it’d be best to go ahead and set something up for you two.”

Shang Qinghua’s blood began to cool in his veins. He tried to keep his voice even. “What are you saying?” He wanted to turn, to look for Mobei Jun. He wanted to go to him and tell him that this was a mistake, that they should have left when they had the chance. The rain was already pouring outside, and the thunder was shaking the pillars in their house. It was too late to run now.

“Huang Jing is a lovely girl, mild mannered and good-looking,” Shang Yuxuan explained, voice even and tempered. “She’s perfect for you. We’ve set up a courtship before you are to be married.” He stated it as if it were simply fact, something to be grateful for, and that would be inevitable. 

Shang Qinghua felt like he was about to collapse. He could not say in front of this man that he did not want to get married. His mouth parted on his unspoken words. “I…” His voice was weak, fractured on the edges. 

“I understand that this is sudden news for you,” Shang Yuxuan said. His voice was somewhat bleak, as if he was trying to say more than what his words meant. It was as if he was saying he knew that Shang Qinghua did not want this. “There is no need to focus on this too much during your brother’s wedding day. Since they are in attendance we thought that it’d be advantageous to inform you now so that you can start becoming aquatinted with one another.”

“You want me to speak to her?” Shang Qinghua asked. His voice was somewhat raspy, as if it had no weight to it. “Now?”

Huang Kuo looked amused, as if he thought Shang Qinghua was only being shy. “Let’s not pressure them. Hopefully they can at least introduce themselves, but there is no rush. After all, they have the rest of their lives to get to know one another.”

Shang Qinghua felt desperate again. He turned around and searched for Mobei Jun, chest tight and aching. Mobei Jun was standing only a few meters away. He was staring at Shang Qinghua with what would appear as a blank expression to anyone else. But Shang Qinghua saw his feelings on him like the weather. Mobei Jun turned and walked out of the hall.

__________

Shang Qinghua had tried to get Mobei Jun to leave with him the night of the wedding, before anyone could try and trap him into courting Huang Jing. Mobei Jun had been livid about the entire ordeal, but as soon as Shang Qinghua had suggested it, he became calm. 

He’d denied the plan. He’d said that they could not go.

Shang Qinghua had been the one to become angry next, but it was a mask for the hurt that he felt. 

Mobei Jun had seen it on his face, and had gone to him, hands gentle. 

“Do not think that I do not want to,” he had said softly.” I grew up on the streets. And I refuse to let you live that way.”

They’d wait, he had said. They could save up and prepare, and then really go. And the more ready they were, the less likely it was that someone would find them if his family decided to look for him. 

Neither of them liked it, and Mobei Jun had been ready to raze the Huang estate to the ground, but when he’d said later that when he thought of Shang Qinghua living like he did, this was the only thing he could think of to do.

Shang Qinghua went along with the courtship meetings. They were innocent enough, much too formal to feel like anything but a transactional get-together. He always brought Mobei Jun with him, too, and it was easier that way. It was not lost on Huang Jing that Shang Qinghua wasn’t interested. It wasn’t lost on her that Shang Qinghua wouldn’t go anywhere with her unless Mobei Jun went with him.

Shang Haoran had spoken to him about it before, and about how he needed to start going alone. Shang Qinghua refused. He promised that if they made him go without Mobei Jun, they would have no luck in having Shang Qinghua go at all. Shang Yuxuan always dismissed it, but Shang Qinghua could see in his expression that his patience was wearing thin, and it would not last for a lifetime. Shang Qinghua was unsure of how far that would go, and what it would mean for him, but it did not seem prudent to ask.

A few months had passed with weekly visits to the Huang residence. Everyone was losing patience the more it dragged on. Shang Qinghua lost patience with pretending that the marriage was ever even on the table, Mobei Jun lost patience with watching Shang Qinghua interact with a person betrothed to him, the Huangs lost patience with the clear disinterest, and Shang Yuxuan lost patience with the lack of direction. Shang Qinghua was getting restless with it. The longer this went on, the more he began to realize that his father truly intended for the marriage to occur. 

For the first time in months, he was planning on going into town with his father and his brother. It felt like it’d been ages since he’d been out without the intention of going to the Huang estate. Mobei Jun decided to stay back to prepare some of their things for his and Shang Qinghua’s eventual departure. They did not have many opportunities for preparation, so Shang Qinghua did not feel too deflated about going without him. These days, however, Shang Qinghua felt anxious when parted from him, as though Mobei Jun was slipping through his fingers. There were times where it felt like his hands were ticklish with weakness when he tried to grab onto him, and Mobei Jun was blowing away like the wind.

When they crossed the gate, Shang Yuxuan headed back inside to grab his money pouch, which he had forgotten, and Shang Haoran took the opportunity to discuss his opinion with Shang Qinghua while they made their way down the road.

“It is necessary to begin considering the future,” Shang Haoran said. They’d been silent so far as they walked, and his posture remained straight and tense. His voice was tempered and cool. His words had cut through a somewhat amiable silence, like a sharp and sudden gust of wind. The air had already been damp with the promise of a spring rain, and it only seemed to grow colder. “There is a time to play and be a child, and then a time to grow and assume responsibility.”

Shang Qinghua kept his tone as even as his brother’s. “My responsibilities are few, ge. You are the oldest. The responsibilities are yours and you wear them well. Mine are to what? Be married to a person I do not wish to marry?”

“The connection with the Huangs will be a blessing to our family,” Shang Haoran said. “That is your duty.”

“I do not want to,” Shang Qinghua said simply.

“And what do you plan on doing instead?” He asked, voice growing icy, glancing over at Shang Qinghua to pierce him with a glare. “Marry Mobei Jun? You cannot. What is your alternative plan?”

Shang Qinghua turned to look at him, glare just as sharp. “Who said that I can’t?”

Shang Haoran let out a soft breath, almost a scoff. “He is a man. You cannot marry him. And if you cannot marry him, then what will you do? Do you believe that father will let you continue to live as you do, as if you were still a child? As if Mobei Jun is still a child? You haven’t worked a day in your life, Qinghua, what do you plan on doing outside of our father’s estate? Do you think it will be easy to travel? To work? To beg?”

Shang Qinghua stared at him in a raging silence, gait pausing as he stared at him.

Shang Haoran stopped walking, too, and turned to stare him down. His gaze was challenging, asking Shang Qinghua to combat it as if he knew that Shang Qinghua could not. Sometimes Shang Qinghua felt as though his brother was not a human, though he could not always decipher what it was that he was instead.

Before Shang Qinghua mustered enough self-control to respond without turning around and walking straight back into their home, footsteps sounded off behind them. 

Shang Haoran glanced over and then turned to continue walking. Shang Qinghua took a few deep breaths, mind racing about how he and Mobei Jun needed to go soon. If Mobei Jun got enough gathered, perhaps they could even leave that night. 

Shang Yuxuan stopped beside Shang Qinghua, glancing between the two of them. “Is something wrong?”

Shang Qinghua turned to keep walking towards the town. His hands were clenched at his sides. 

Shang Haoran was the one to speak, voice cool and controlled. “I was merely reminding Qinghua of a few important truths.”

Shang Qinghua gritted his teeth. 

__________

When Shang Qinghua returned home, he was several paces ahead of his brother and father. He’d hardly spoken to either of them while they’d been in town. He felt angrier and angrier the more he thought of what Shang Haoran had said to him. He felt more and more desperate to get away. He was beginning to feel like they were running out of time—that he wouldn’t be able to put it off much longer.

Even if they couldn’t leave that night, Shang Qinghua felt like he needed to see Mobei Jun. He needed to see Mobei Jun’s face, to feel his hands, and to hear his voice. Shang Qinghua stepped through the gate and made his way through the courtyard. The sun was beginning to set now, and it had dipped behind the house. It was dark from a growing overcast sky, and the more the clouds rolled in, the more Shang Qinghua began to feel like he was chasing time. Or perhaps running from it.

Shang Qinghua practically stumbled into Mobei Jun’s room. “Mobei—” he breathed, hand on the doorway. He paused when he took in the room. 

It was empty. Mobei Jun was not inside and neither were his things. Shang Qinghua felt something in his stomach drop to the floor. Even as his mind supplied reasons as to why Mobei Jun was not there, why his things were gone, Shang Qinghua felt a low coiling in his gut. It felt like a winter rain, icy and dousing, and inescapable. He knew, even before he accepted it.

He turned away from Mobei Jun’s room and made his way up to his room. He walked through the doorway and knew that he would see it untouched. He knew that it would be as he’d left it, not a single one of his belongings stowed away with Mobei Jun’s. Even still, when he rounded the doorframe and saw everything the same as it was, the icy feeling grew. 

A few footsteps sounded behind him and he turned, listless. 

There was a servant behind him, hands folded tightly in front of her stomach. “He…” she trailed off, voice weak. Shang Qinghua could see on her face that she knew what her news would bring to him. “He is gone.”

Shang Qinghua’s mouth parted. He wasn’t sure what he was planning to say. He thought maybe he’d simply dismiss her, or perhaps demand to know what happened. He thought he might accuse her, for there was no one else to accuse at the moment. Instead, a shaky breath left him, and his legs felt weak, and he grabbed tightly onto the doorframe. 

Shang Yuxuan came up the stairs, pace slow and measured. He was watching Shang Qinghua carefully. “Qinghua…” he began.

Shang Qinghua looked over at him, and the servant stepped away, hurrying back down the stairs. “He’s gone.”

Shang Yuxuan’s mouth tightened into a thin line as he came to a stop beside him. “I know that you were close to him. I’m sorry.”

Shang Qinghua stared blankly at his collarbone. “You went back into the house,” Shang Qinghua accused softly. “You went back into the house after I’d left. You made him go.”

“Qinghua,” he said sharply, defensive. “How could you say that? I was the one who brought him in. He was like—” He cut himself off and cleared his throat. “He was like a son to me.”

Shang Qinghua’s nails dug into the wood. “You did. I know that you did. He wouldn’t have left me.”

“Perhaps he understood that he would have to move on at some point,” Shang Yuxuan said, ignoring the accusation. “You will be married soon and you will not have time for him the way you did before.”

Shang Qinghua shook his head and moved past him. His limbs felt weak. He felt as though he was about to collapse. “No,” he murmured, head beginning to feel dizzy as he began to make his way towards the stairs. “No, I will not.”

“You will not what?” Shang Yuxuan asked, moving behind him.

“I will not marry her,” Shang Qinghua said. He stepped down the stairs. He felt that he might fall. “I will not marry anyone but him.”

An incredulous scoff tore its way out of Shang Yuxuan’s throat, as if he hadn’t meant for it to come out. “Qinghua.”

Shang Qinghua shook his head again. His vision was going black around the edges. He walked into Mobei Jun’s room and sat onto his bed. He heard the distant sound of thunder as he laid down on the bed. Shang Yuxuan was still there, still speaking, and Shang Qinghua heard it as if through water. He stared out the window at the impending storm and blinked once, then twice. He did not open his eyes again.

__________

“You need to eat.”

“Qinghua, get out of bed, you cannot mope forever.”

“He really does have a fever, then?”

“Qinghua.”

“You have to eat. You have to drink water. We’ll force it down your throat if we have to.”

“I know you miss him. You cannot waste away for a reason as silly as that.”

“Grow up.”

“Please, Qinghua, your health is too poor to refuse food and water anymore.”

“He’s not coming back… I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Please, just eat.”

“I know that you miss him. You still must live.”

“What are you doing out here? Get inside, Qinghua, you can’t be out with your health the way it is.”

“You’re seeing things. He was never here.”

“He’s gone.”

__________

Shang Qinghua stared outside of the window. He was out of bed at the moment, but it was the first time he’d gotten out of bed in two days. He rarely had energy for anything else anymore. HIs muscles were weak and his body sore. His bones felt brittle, and his head felt hazy and unclear. He felt like he hadn’t been able to think about anything in months.

Shang Qinghua stared up at the stars. They were bright, even as he could smell impending rain. He wondered what it’d be like to be nearer to those lights. They’d been looking different, since Mobei Jun left. Many things had begun to be different since then. The smell of rain and the taste of food all seemed to have been muted to silence. The more he’d thought about it, the more he didn’t want to go near the stars at all.

Shang Haoran entered the room as Shang Qinghua tracked the puddles of water that began to fall from the roof. It was raining again. He was fairly certain that the wet season was supposed to have finished at this point. However, it still dredged on, long and cold and encasing. 

“You’re out of bed,” Shang Haoran said, somewhat surprised. He sat down in a chair not far from where Shang Qinghua was resting.

Shang Qinghua didn’t respond. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in weeks.

“I know that you blame father and me for Mobei Jun leaving—Don’t give me that look. I’ve already told you—we didn’t chase him away. He left on his own. You’re so suspicious of us that there would be no point in hiding it if it were true.”

Shang Qinghua looked away from him and back out to the rain. He rested his chin in his hand and leaned into it. It required too much energy to keep it lifted himself. 

“Let it go. Let him go.”

Shang Qinghua stared at the clouds that hung beneath the stars and just covered the moon. He opened his mouth. His voice was raspy with disuse. “I will never let him go. He is a part of me, down to my bones.”

Shang Haoran was silent.

“He will remain in me, no matter where he is, until the moment I perish.” Shang Qinghua felt his chest ache. He needed Mobei Jun. He would be unsurprised if that moment he’d spoken of came relatively soon. 

“You will, if you keep this up,” Shang Haoran said. His voice was somewhat shaky, as though he’d never really understood until that moment. “Qinghua, you will die.”

“Let me,” Shang Qinghua said. “Let me waste in the grass, where I can be wholly me and wholly him.”

__________

“No,” he heard a voice whisper. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no.”

Shang Qinghua turned over in his bed, feeling bleary and weak. His heart, which had felt rather sluggish lately, sped at the familiar voice. He blinked a few times, trying to rid the blurriness. He could just make out a dark shape at his window. “Mobei,” he rasped.

“No no no,” Mobei Jun said again, voice demolished. There was a dull thud on the ground next to the bed as Mobei Jun fell to his knees at his side. His cold hands found Shang Qinghua’s. “No, you can’t do this to me,” he said, angry and demanding. However, a moment later, his voice weakened. “Please, don’t do this to me."

Shang Qinghua blinked a few more times, body pulling him towards consciousness. He stared at Mobei Jun’s face and waited for it to fade the way it always did. He waited for the feeling of Mobei Jun’s hands to fall away from his. But Mobei Jun only got clearer and his hands only felt colder. His body shook as he tried to push himself up, though his muscles protested. 

Mobei Jun’s face was contorted into something terrible. He reached up and held Shang Qinghua’s cheek. “Qinghua,” he pleaded. “Qinghua, my Qinghua."

“Mobei,” Shang Qinghua breathed. His chest heaved a few times, and then he was moving forward, falling into his arms in an uncoordinated heap. Mobei Jun caught him and held him near, his arms tight as his shoulders trembled. Shang Qinghua wept against him, pressing his lips up and down Mobei Jun’s throat, up to his face. He kissed Mobei Jun’s jaw and his chin, his cheek and his forehead. His hands were weak in their grip on his shoulders. Shang Qinghua kissed his eyelids and his nose and his lips, quick, as if he’d fade any moment. 

Mobei Jun wrapped him in his arms, one hand around his middle, the other cradling the back of his head. 

Shang Qinghua felt his breath stutter as he tried to drag in a steady pull of air. “Mobei—my love, my heart.”

Mobei Jun’s skin was cold from the midnight air. His nose brushed against Shang Qinghua’s cheek, and it was like ice, and Shang Qinghua felt his heart beating in his chest like a heavy drum. “What’s wrong, tell me what’s wrong. Tell me what to do,” he whispered. He buried his face in Shang Qinghua’s neck. He was quivering, hands shaking where they held him. “Tell me what to do. I will do anything.”

Shang Qinghua’s fingers dug into his shoulders, as if he could latch on and never be removed from him again. It was like a seedling breaking through a soil to be with him again, to be held by him. Mobei Jun was his root, his water, the leaves that caressed his petals. “Mobei,” he croaked. “Just—It’s alright. I’m alright.”

“You aren’t,” he whispered, anguished. “You’re dying.”

“I’m not,” Shang Qinghua said, attempting to be soothing, but he still felt too overwhelmed to sound anything but out of breath. “I’m not dying, I’m…”

“What then?” He asked desperately. “You can’t die. You can’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” Shang Qinghua rasped, hand tangling in his hair. “I promise, I won’t. Even if I have to haunt you for the rest of time, I will not leave you.”

“Haunt me,” Mobei Jun breathed helplessly, kissing his lips and his cheek and letting his mouth linger. “Haunt me as you already do. Attach yourself to me, never let me stray farther than an inch without you.”

Shang Qinghua’s fingers flexed in his hair. He nodded listlessly. “Forever, my love.”

Mobei Jun’s lips were cool against his cheek, dragging gently along his skin. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he whispered.

Shang Qinghua rested his head against his shoulder and breathed in the smell of him. “Mobei,” he murmured. “I cannot live without you. And you left me.”

“I didn’t,” he said sharply, pulling back to look down at him. “Qinghua, I did not leave you.”

Shang Qinghua stared up at him. “You were gone. You’ve been gone. You left me.”

Mobei Jun held his face in his hands and bent down until their foreheads were touching. “Your father made me leave,” he whispered. “And I thought that I would prepare still, but on my own, to be ready for you.”

“I don’t care about that,” he whispered. “I need you. I need to be with you. You can’t—You can’t separate what is meant to be one.”

Mobei Jun kissed his lips, then his cheek, then his jaw. “I’m here now, beloved. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I can’t live without you,” Shang Qinghua repeated. 

Mobei Jun made a soft noise in the back of his throat. He kissed him again. 

“I knew that my father made you leave,” Shang Qinghua murmured. He wrapped his arms around his neck and held onto him as if he’d disappear. “I knew it was him.”

“He came to my room after you left to go into town,” he said, sounding angry. “He told me that I had to leave, to be gone by the time you returned, otherwise he’d bring someone to make me leave.”

Shang Qinghua’s arms tightened. 

“I knew that if he did that, everything we’d prepared would be lost. If I left, I’d be able to continue preparing, and then come get you, when they don’t expect it, and then I could take you away.”

Shang Qinghua tilted his head up to look at him. “Why did you stay away from me?”

“Too dangerous to try and return,” he said. “It still is. But… I was in a town, and these people were speaking about the second Shang son dying.”

Shang Qinghua brushed his fingers through Mobei Jun’s hair. Mobei Jun’s voice had weakened on the last word. His voice was soft when he responded. “I’m alright. I’m alright, I promise. Now that you’re here, I’m alright.”

Mobei Jun held his face in his hand. “I was afraid. I did not know what happened. I did not know how bad it was, or what was ailing you. I did not know if I’d be too late.”

Shang Qinghua rested the side of his head against Mobei Jun’s chest. He felt his heart beating. “I missed you,” he said weakly. “I did not know what to do without you.”

Mobei Jun didn’t say anything. He rested his head on Shang Qinghua’s and breathed deeply.

“In fact, I’m afraid that I’m going to wake up and you’ll be gone,” he whispered. “I kept seeing you, thinking you’d come back, and then you’d fade away. I’ve been getting worse, without you. What if I wake up on the floor, and you were never here?”

Mobei Jun’s arms tightened almost painfully. “I’m here,” he said fiercely. 

“I was dying,” he said blankly, only now just letting it settle now that Mobei Jun was back. “I was. If you had stayed away a week longer, it might have been too late.”

Mobei Jun let out a soft sound, desperate and frantic. He held him tighter, hand coming up to cradle his face. “Qinghua,” he croaked.

“You once told me to haunt you. But it’s you who has haunted me,” Shang Qinghua whispered. “You’ve hung in this room like a ghost, in the dark corners of this house and in my heart.”

Mobei Jun hovered over him, encircling him in his arms like a cage. His breath was cool against Shang Qinghua’s face. 

“Stay in this place,” Shang Qinghua murmured. “Hang in the precipice of my heart, where I can be near to you always.”

Mobei Jun’s lips were smooth against his forehead. He kissed him once, then twice, and did not stop. “Always.”

__________

Mobei Jun would come back, he’d said. Shang Qinghua had begged him not to go. He’d wept and held onto him and told him he’d die without him. He begged Mobei Jun to take him with him. Mobei Jun had knelt in front of him as if asking for penance and promised to return. His voice had quivered, and his body had been shaking, and his hands were cold in his horror.

“If they find me, they will take me from you,” Mobei Jun had whispered. “I’m almost ready. Soon, my love, I promise. I will come for you and take you from here.”

Shang Qinghua had let him go when the sun had risen and he heard the servants out preparing for the day. He’d let Mobei Jun go when he’d been gripped with fear. His father would order Mobei Jun away again, and he’d never escape this place and he’d never see Mobei Jun again. He watched Mobei Jun go, and felt like his own soul had left with him. 

Shang Qinghua laid back in his bed and stared listlessly at the wall until his breakfast was brought to him. He ate it, though he did not have the appetite for it. The servant who’d picked it up was visibly surprised at the amount that Shang Qinghua ate. But he could not risk dying anymore, now that Mobei Jun promised to come back and promised to come back soon. 

He did not know what soon meant exactly. He did not know if soon meant another two months. He did not know if it meant longer. He did not know if it meant a week. All he knew is that he needed him, and he knew Mobei Jun would come back for him, and he had to be there for when it happened. 

Shang Qinghua was not sure if they had caught onto why he suddenly was able to eat again and gain more strength. He still did not eat a healthy amount, and he was still quite weak, but he had improved significantly. He knew that his brother was aware of something. He knew that his brother would know there was a reason. After the conversation they’d had when his brother finally realized what Mobei Jun meant to Shang Qinghua, he had approached him with a certain level of understanding that would be unable to turn a completely blind eye to the sudden change in Shang Qinghua’s countenance. 

When he was well enough, Shang Qinghua began to go on walks again. He had not been able to bear not being able to visit the tree that he and Mobei Jun would frequent at night. He felt that sometimes he needed to breathe in the fresh air in order to sleep, to be able to feel the soft grass on his skin in order for his bones to relax. But truthfully, he just needed Mobei jun to rest and without him, it was as if he was in a perpetual state of wakefulness. And by this point, Shang Qinghua was very tired.

He still was refusing to see his betrothed. He would not visit her home and he would not see her when she came to the estate. Shang Yuxuan was angry. He was getting increasingly tired of the rebellion, and Shang Qinghua knew that it was only a matter of time before he was forced and not asked. Shang Qinghua was not afraid of his father. He was not afraid of his betrothed and her family. He was only afraid of one thing, and it was the one thing that he had faith would not happen. 

A month after Mobei Jun had seen him last, after he’d snuck into Shang Qinghua’s room to see him, Shang Qinghua went out to the tree. He laid beneath it, where Mobei Jun would lay, and pretended that he was lying in the imprint that Mobei Jun had left. The air was warm on his skin, the heat lingering from the day’s warmth that had soaked into the earth below. 

He would be scolded for sleeping outside. He did not care. The sound of the wind rolling over the hills was the only thing that got near to settling his restless heart.

Despite the respite it gave, Shang Qinghua did not sleep. He rarely did, these days. He remained staring at the sky and at the moon. The sky was a dark blue, rich and potent, and the stars that splattered across the sky looked like they could have been touched if only he reached out his hand. 

When he woke, it was still night. The moon had not moved much from its place hung over the horizon, so Shang Qinghua knew he had not slept long. But when he looked up, the stars looked the way they used to, when he’d stare at them when he was young. 

He knew it before he felt it, and he heard it before he listened, and his heart settled before it could beat with it. 

Mobei Jun’s chest rose and fell behind him, deep and easy.

Shang Qinghua shut his eyes for a moment, then he opened them again. And the stars looked just as beautiful as they always had, and the moon watched him come back to life, as if it had facilitated his return itself. He turned in Mobei Jun’s arms and looked at his face. 

Mobei Jun’s eyes opened. He stared down at him, hands solid and feeling against Shang Qinghua’s back. “Come away with me.”

“I will return to you,” Shang Qinghua whispered, tipping forward until their faces were hardly apart. “I cannot come away from a place I never was to begin with.”

Mobei Jun rested his forehead against his. “Return to me then.”

Shang Qinghua rested his hand on his face as their noses brushed together. “Stay with me. Oh Mobei…” He shut his eyes. “Haunt me again. Haunt me and take me and touch me until I can no longer decipher where I end and you begin."

Mobei Jun bent forward, until their lips brushed and tickled against one another. “Return and come away,” he said. “The carriage is waiting and I’ve dislodged its wheel.”

“Will you pick the room closest to mine?” Shang Qinghua asked, more of a panted breath than a word. 

“I pick you,” he said. He pressed their lips together. “I pick you and whatever comes with it.”