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When Shen Qingqiu blearily begins to wake up, he is immediately struck with the inexplicable feeling that something is wrong . For a moment, he can’t quite place what it is, but then he realizes- Binghe isn’t clinging to him.
In the past five years, Shen Qingqiu has memorized all of his husband's intricacies, the little actions that tell him so much more than words ever could.
So, although Binghe is still next to him, his breathing quiet and shallow in the softness of the morning, it is still wrong, because the younger is not wrapped around him like a clingy octopus. His sticky Binghe has unstuck himself, and that only ever means bad things.
Instead of the usual full-body wrap, there is a simple, light hand resting on Shen Qingqiu’s waist, rubbing soft circles into the thin fabric of his inner robes.
Shen Qingqiu recognizes the habit; of course he does. It’s what Binghe does when he is particularly upset- when he can’t quite believe that Shen Qingqiu is his.
And Shen Qingqiu should get up, should comfort his husband and ask what’s wrong, but the blankets are deliciously warm around him and he is still half asleep and the idea of having to leave the warmth is terrible.
So he just quietly reaches out and tugs Binghe closer, frowning when the other tenses underneath his touch.
“Love?” He calls, his voice hoarse and deep, hoping that using Binghe’s favorite pet name will soothe him a little, “Is everything alright?”
Binghe only tenses more, although he does reluctantly come closer, hand wrapping around Shen Qingqiu’s body.
“Fine, Shizun.”
Binghe still doesn’t tangle their legs together or press himself against him, so Shen Qingqiu cracks his eyes open, wincing when light hits him in a flurry. He gives himself a moment to adjust, blinking sluggishly as everything comes into clarity.
Binghe is staring at him, his expression a mix of hurt and disbelief and longing and something unreadable. Oh, Shen Qingqiu thinks with growing worry, something is horribly wrong.
It has been more than a year since he couldn’t read Binghe.
All reluctance is shed when Shen Qingqiu sees Binghe’s face. He yawns and gently unwraps the other’s hand from around him, giving it a squeeze when he sees Binghe’s expression darken. Slowly, he gets up, a shiver going through his body when the morning chill hits his thinly clothed body, and tugs at Binghe’s warm hand.
“Alright,” He says gently, careful not to let anything but love slip into his voice. Bnghe can be rather sensitive about eliciting even the slightest negative emotion from him sometimes. “Up you get, come on.”
Binghe rises obediently, his expression still stormy and unfamiliar.
Shen Qingqiu takes hold of his other hand, squeezing the large palms with his own, smaller ones when Binghe settles in front of him.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen in the night? Did you somehow lose control of your dreamscape and have a nightmare?”
“No, Shizun,” Binghe says coldly, his tone nearly making Shen Qingqiu flinch, “I’m fine.”
“Ah, Binghe, I’ve told you before, haven't I?” Shen Qingqiu says, barely holding back a sigh, “You don’t have to talk about it if you want, but don’t pretend you’re alright.”
Shen Qingqiu looks into Binghe’s intense eyes, meeting the gaze evenly. “This husband knows you better than that.”
Binghe’s breath hitches, eyes widening for barely a second, before it smooths out again. His lip wobbles, though, and Shen Qingqiu knows his husband.
He knows this isn’t him.
He’s seen that look before, he knows who it belongs to- the original Luo Binghe, who wanted to kill him.
But Binghe hasn’t done anything to him yet, and only seems to want affection from Shen Qingqiu, so he plays along. Besides, it’s not like he’d be able to win if he decided to fight Binghe, anyway.
And maybe, just a little bit, he wants the protagonist who’s never known real love to experience what it’s like to be taken care of. After all, though Binghe originally had hundreds of wives, none of them really seemed to want more than papapa- none of them wanted to know him beyond his power and his heavenly pillar .
(
It must have been lonely,
Shen Qingqiu thinks, privately, quitely.)
So he pushes the edges of the blanket of his lap, making space, and opens his arms, tilting his head with a kind smile.
“Come here,” Shen Qingqiu says fondly, his heart panging as he sees Binghe’s wide-eyed, confused expression.
He sighs.
“I know you like to be held, love, don’t look so surprised. Come, come. This husband is here for you, even if you don’t want to say anything.”
Carefully, hesitantly, as if expecting Shen Qingqiu to retract his offer and laugh in his face, Binghe inches forward, little by little, until he is sitting in Shen Qingqiu’s lap, still tense and stiff.
When Shen Qingqiu’s hand wraps around Binghe’s body, the other begins to tremble .
He supposes the protagonist wasn’t quite as happy as he seemed.
Gently, Shen Qingqiu raises a palm to cup Binghe’s head and push it gently into the crook of his neck, patting the fluffy hair and letting it rest. Binghe’s legs shift, wrapping around Shen Qingiu’s waist while his arms circle his neck in a vice grip. Shen Qingqiu lets him, rubbing circles into his back as Binghe holds him like a child, trembling in his arms.
“ Oh, love, it’s okay. You can cry if you want to,” Shen Qingqiu says, voice breaking as his heart throbs with hurt. He can’t believe he was ever scared of the man that soaks his affection in like a sponge, even when he believes Shen Qingqiu to be his abuser.
And Binghe- Bing-ge, the evil demon lord who by all means should not be so upset, so touch-starved- Binghe breaks, sobbing into the silky fabric of Shen Qingqiu’s robes. The cries fill the quiet air, and Shen Qingqiu holds him, murmuring soft reassurances into Binghe’s ear as he quivers, folding into Shen Qingqiu as if he wants to be shielded.
“Shh, Shh, it’s alright. My darling husband is so strong, so brave. He must’ve been so scared, but it’s alright. I’m here now. Shizun will protect you from anything that could hurt you.”
“I-” Binghe starts, and his voice breaks, choking on a sob. Shen Qingqiu pushes his head again, gentle as can be, and lets him cry for a long, long while. Who would’ve thought the original Binghe would be just as much of a crybaby as his Binghe was?
Eventually, the sobs calm and the trembling lessens, so Shen Qingqiu brings both his hands up and pulls Binghe’s face away from his now-damp shoulder and cradles it with his palms, wiping the still-leaking tears on Binghe’s cheeks away with his thumbs.
“Can this one do anything else for his precious husband?”
Binghe avoids his eyes, nose tinged pink, cheeks rosy, before he finally whispers, “Kiss me. Please.”
Shen Qingqiu obliges, eyes fluttering shut as he leans in to press his lips against Binghe’s soft, warm ones, trying to pour all his love and care into the kiss. It’s chaste and soft, careful and sweet- at least until Binghe tries to deepen it. Shen Qingqiu pulls back, only to lean in and press another kiss to one corner of Binghe’s mouth, and then the other. Binghe’s arms and legs loosen, relaxing as Shen Qinqiu continues his ministrations.
He traces Binghe’s tear tracks with kisses, tasting salt on his lips, the uneven breath of his lover loud in his ears. Binghe seems to melt in his hold, leaning into Shen Qingqiu’s hands as if he wants to merge with them, red-rimmed eyes closed in content.
He pecks Binghe’s pink nose, laughing softly as it scrunches up adorably, and tilts his head to kiss both his eyelids. Then, he leans forward and presses his lips to Binghe’s crimson demon mark, an action that never fails to make his Binghe ridiculously happy.
Binghe’s eyes shoot open, mouth parting as he stares at Shen Qingqiu’s likely besotted expression in shock and- is that awe ?
Oh, his poor, poor husband-
“Shizun,” Binghe whispers, croaky and broken and so terribly sad it makes Shen Qingqiu want to hold him forever and never let him be hurt again.
“Yes, love?” He asks, one of his thumbs gently rubbing the soft skin under Binghe’s glassy, dark eye.
Binghe shudders before he slowly sinks down, hunching over so that his head is pressed against Shen Qingqiu’s chest, right over his heartbeat. His hands unravel and he tucks them close to his chest, fingers balled into white-knuckled fists, clutching at Shen Qingqiu’s pale green robes.
Shen Qingqiu lets him, moving his arms to wrap around Binghe’s waist even though he knows the position must be uncomfortable- Binghe is far larger than he is.
“I was… angry. All of the time. And hurt. Really, really hurt.” Binghe takes a breath in, shaky and scared .
“I was alone,” he whispers. “No one saw me. No one cared . I had all the power in the world and so many beautiful women around me and I had revenge on everyone who wronged me but still, I wasn’t happy, because I was alone .”
“Shh, Shh, it’s alright,” Shen Qingqiu soothes, even as his heart breaks for Luo Binghe and the awful fate he’d been cursed to.
Initially, when Shen Qingqiu had read Proud Immortal Demon Way, he’d thought of Binghe as a man who had everything one could ever desire.
He realized now exactly how wrong he’d been.
“This one is here, this one loves you. Binghe is not alone. He has his husband to take care of him. Whatever Binghe needs in order to be happy, I will provide it, always. It won’t do for my husband to be upset.”
Binghe shifts, sinking further into Shen Qingqiu’s hold. A small, pitiful whimper escapes him, and Shen Qingqiu’s heart aches impossibly more.
“Just hold me,” Binghe whispers, “please. Just for a little longer.”
Shen Qingqiu wonders if every version of Binghe out there yearns for affection- wonders if his heart will always want to give and give and give to each one.
He thinks he might’ve been upset, once, if the answer was yes.
He doesn’t mind anymore.
There is enough room in his heart to love his Binghe, and to love every other one that exists out there. (He thinks there always has been, even when Binghe was just a character and Shen Qingqiu went by another name, swimming neck-deep in denial.)
He can’t comprehend it anymore, really, the idea of not loving Luo Binghe.
Maybe that’s unhealthy. Yue Qingyuan would probably say it is.
…Shen Qingqiu doesn’t really care.
“Of course,” Shen Qingqiu replies, even as his back begins to ache from supporting Binghe’s weight for so long. “I’ll stay. I’ll hold you, for however long you want me to.”
“Okay,” Binghe says, soft and relaxed, a note of happiness worming its way into his voice, “Okay.”