Work Text:
Whereas active love is labor and perseverance, and for some people, perhaps, a whole science.
Fyodor Dostoevsky (tr. Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky)
“A’Yun,” his Niang whispers to him in the early hours of the morning. “Remember this,” she holds his hands, small enough to fit in her palm, close to her heart. “Important things must be said three times.” She says, holding him dear.
“Important things always come in threes, three omens, three signs, three knots. The sigils in our family stand for balance between the good and evil of the world, and you, my A’Yun, are a fundamental imbalance.”
Chongyun doesn’t know what she means, but she laughs anyway, it seems like a joke Chongyun isn’t privy to.
“So,” she continues, “when you say something important, something you want to remember, you say it in threes. That way, it will never be forgotten.” She laughs again, “will you memorize your mantras now?”
“Important things must be said three times.” He declares loudly, he is six and his friend is five and far too curious for his own good. “That’s what A’Niang tells me.”
“Well then,” his friend says, kicking his feet on the edge of the bridge they ran towards. He’s clinging onto Chongyun’s sleeve but that’s okay, he looks at Chongyun, eyes alight with determination, “Chongyun, Chongyun, Chongyun!” He says with a smile.
Chongyun laughs, shocked and incredulous, “what was that for?”
“You’re important!” He smiles, bright as the sun, “why wouldn’t I?”
Chongyun warms, red creeping up his cheeks as the familiar pulsing of his yang energy fills his senses.
“Chongyun!” Xingqiu exclaims, “your popsicle!”
He feels himself nod as something is shoved into his hands, cold and comforting.
“Chongyun,” Xingqiu drawls, pulling on his sleeve and drawing the last syllable out in a way unbecoming of the Second Son of the Feiyun Commerce Guild. He is 17 and Xingqiu is 16 and still far too curious for his own good.
“Yes, Xingqiu?” He asks, not looking up from his talismans, careful not to smudge his calligraphy.
“Chongyun,” he whispers, suddenly much closer than Chongyun expected. “Read to me.”
Chongyun sighs, “now?”
Xingqiu brightens as he nods, handing him a book and making himself comfortable in Chongyun’s lap. Blue hair spilled over his knees, none of this is good for Chongyun’s health.
Xingqiu smiles and Chongyun realizes, not for the first time, that he’d do anything for the boy in front of him. His heart stuttering at the sight of expectant amber eyes, Chongyun clears his throat, and begins reading.
This is a horrible idea, Chongyun decides.
Sitting across from him, Xingqiu shifts his weight, nervously pulling on his sleeve and trying to look far more composed than he feels, the tea growing cold on the table in front of him.
The sound of cars passing by in the late night fills the silence.
The man in front of him feels familiarly foreign. Silken shirts and perfect posture of a stranger wearing the face of someone he used to know better than himself.
Chongyun knows this, he knows it in a way he will never truly dig out. The way Xingqiu’s hair falls, the slightest quirk on his lips when he’s found an opening in a proposal, the way he tenses his legs when he’s nervous. The ways he tries to look more composed than he feels.
“Look, okay–” Xingqiu starts, voice deceptively steady. “I’m sorry, Chongyun. It was a terrible idea, I’ll see myself out.”
“Wait–” Chongyun reaches out, with much more assurance than he feels, and abruptly realizes he doesn’t quite have anything to say. “I– could you recap for me?”
Xingqiu’s eyes widen slightly, hands in the middle of gathering his belongings.
“Just to make sure we’re on the same page.” Chongyun adds, for clarity.
He looks like he wants to say something. The telltale scrunch of his nose when something’s on the tip of his tongue, but Chongyun pays it no mind. After all, they should’ve stopped knowing each other this way years ago.
“I–” Xingqiu clears his throat, “will you go as my date for the 37th Feiyun Commerce Guild gala?”
Chongyun lets a moment of silence pass as sees Xingqiu cringe at his wording, as he rushes to remedy something broken.
“Not as a date- date or anything, of course.” He breathes, “it’s just– you’re the most believable option that’ll keep them from doing the rounds with me again. I know that they care about me but they already have an heir! Truly, I don’t understand how this insistence on my dating life benefits them at all.” Xingqiu crosses his arms, leaning into the soft blue sofa looking unfairly at home. The deep navy of his coat draped over the side of the seat looks like it belongs there.
Dangerous, dangerous territory.
“And what makes you so sure they’ll buy me as your date, exactly?” Chongyun turns away, busying himself with the idle tea set he hasn’t used since he moved in. “You know we didn’t end things privately, Xingqiu.”
The words feel foreign and uncomfortable in his mouth. Vitriol towards Xingqiu never belonged on his tongue. But then Xingqiu flushes, and Chongyun feels a rush of satisfaction run through his veins.
Xingqiu takes a breath, steadying himself the way Chongyun knows he’d been taught as the second son of the Feiyun Commerce Guild. He’d seen it all those years ago, been there beside him and heard the complaints about adjusting and maintaining his posture to perfection. Chongyun knows with a bone-searing certainty that any resolve he’s accumulated into refusing Xingqiu will evaporate into dust the moment he opens his mouth. “That’s true. But we’ve always been friends, no? Surely it’s more believable that I hide a relationship with my former friend rather than introduce someone completely new. You know how much I talk to my family.”
Chongyun knows this especially well.
Xingqiu’s family has always been especially close. Xingqiu liked to joke that they were the odd one out amongst the sea of rich families with horrifically strained relationships but Chongyun knows he values his family just as they value him. They aren’t without their faults; putting the interest and well-being of the entire family at risk for an individual pursuit just isn’t in the blood of such shrewd businessmen. Or so Xingqiu says.
The silence that follows is tense, cut with the click of porcelain on wood.
Chongyun’s head feels like a swirling cacophony of noise and water, each part begging for a slice of his attention but the only thing clear in front of him is Xingqiu. Open and asking, Xingqiu.
“What’s in it for me?” He ends up saying, because Xingqiu wouldn’t have come here without a deal in mind, because he needs to put up a fight in a losing battle somehow, because he’s Chongyun and this is Xingqiu and Chongyun hasn’t said no to Xingqiu since they were sixteen .
A part of him hates that he knows Xingqiu so well. Another revels in it.
Xingqiu steadies, relaxed disposition shifting back into perfect posture and minute adjustments seamlessly. Like flowing water, Chongyun thinks, he could take any shape, any form, and still be so–
“Right.” He brings out a set of papers and an inkpen. “I will shoulder all the costs, including but not limited to clothing, food, and possible excursions during the week of the gala. You’ll be able to keep everything you pick, if you so choose, and I will give you the final compensation for your time the afternoon after the gala.”
“What about work and prior engagements? You don’t expect me to upend my entire life for this week, do you?”
“Well, do you have anything scheduled?” Xingqiu asks. “I heard from Xiangling that you’ve taken a break from the Adventurer’s Guild for the time being, and I know you’re not one to come out often.”
The silence stretches, warping everything it touches.
“How much is compensation?” He asks, already knowing it’s some severely exorbitant amount. He has no need for extra mora, the Guild pays him handsomely, but curiosity forces the stab in the dark. I wonder how much he thinks my time is worth.
“Five million. Paid for at the end of the gala.”
“It’s a week, yes?”
Chongyun takes a moment to study him. The way Xingqiu moves has morphed into something clinical. The click of porcelain in time with the click of his heels and each brush of his clothes against the seat he looks so at home on. Chongyun had since chased away that part of him, one only he was privy to, the moment they broke it off.
He wonders, belatedly, carelessly, who else was privy to that side of Xingqiu. The relinquishment of his right to see him stripped of his responsibilities, his laugh—loud and unrestrained—after a particularly memorable prank, the smile he kept only for those close to him, the smile he kept for Chongyun.
His heart squeezes at the sight of the person in front of him. A stranger wearing the face of the man who knows him best.
“I’ll do it.”
“Taotao… I’ve done something stupid.”
Hu Tao immediately snorts in response. How rude. The director of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, a formidable woman with a notorious streak of eccentricity, his best friend! Laughing at him!
Xingqiu ignores the way his heart twists at the title. No, not best friend. Hu Tao is currently the closest person to his heart, but best friend has never been anyone else but Chongyun.
It’s foolishly sentimental of him, obsessing over this connection to such inane and arbitrary titles. But in the years since their breakup he’s never been able to look at anyone quite the same. All he’s managed is a string of shameful hookups with light hair and light eyes that never quite loved him the right way.
Pathetic that he’s still not over someone he left.
“So,” Hu Tao gasps through giggles. “You needed a date for the gala and you went to Chongyun? The same Chongyun you broke up with like three years ago?”
Three years, ten months, five days.
Xingqiu winces. “Just about.”
“And you brought a contract with you,” she keeps laughing. “Oh Archons, I'm telling Yanfei. This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done—I’m including breaking up with him in the first place on that list.”
Xingqiu groans. “I never should’ve come to you.”
“Aiyah, you’re here now aren’t you?” She smiles and Xingqiu feels like he’s just opened the gates to hell. “Anyway, did he agree?”
“What?”
“Chongyun! Did he agree to the contract?”
“Well–” Xingqiu hangs his head. “Yes. He did.”
“He did?” Hu Tao almost screams, and Xingqiu winces in sympathy for the nearby bystanders startled by the sudden volume.
“Yes! He did.” Xingqiu hisses, “now keep your voice down!”
Hu Tao cackles, “I– I can’t,” she gasps through giggles. “This is the funniest thing that’s ever happened.”
Xingqiu sighs, Hu Tao’s laughter filling the background.
“Well, what are you going to do now?” Hu Tao asks, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Isn’t the gala this week?”
“I’m going to–” he stutters, suddenly unsure of what to say. “I’m going to bring him as my date and it will be fine and not weird.”
Anyone else would’ve withered under the funeral director’s gaze, but Xingqiu has known Hu Tao for the better part of half his life.
He matches that gaze shot for shot.
“Well,” she smiles, “I look forward to having our unbiased umpire returned.”
Xingqiu thinks, not for the first time, that he’s maybe landed himself in a situation.
He pulls at his collar, the silk feeling more uncomfortable by the second. He was the one to suggest this, he should theoretically be okay about it.
He is not, in practice, okay about it.
Xingqiu’s fingers shake as he rereads the message.
Chongyun 6:19PM
Hey, do you want to go out for lunch at the Wanmin tomorrow? Old time’s sake.
The words stare down at him. Accusatory and foreboding.
Xingqiu knows it’s part of the agreement. Terms and conditions laid out in its entirety in his mind’s eye. Contractual obligations are what keep this world—his world—turning on its axis. He knows the ins and outs of a contract better than he knows his own breath.
They had agreed to meet a few times before the event to sell the act and “relearn” each other. He almost wants to laugh. As if he’s changed at all.
He’d given Chongyun a phone, something new from Fontaine, to keep in touch should the need arise.
He thinks back to their meeting. The first meeting in the years since their breakup and Xingqiu had the gall to ask his very much ex-boyfriend who he very much did not end nicely with to accompany him. He almost groans out loud, who did he think he was? A starry-eyed protagonist whose jilted ex lover would surely fall for after a series of impossibly cliché antics? He isn’t nearly ditzy enough for that.
For all his love of literature, he could never quite pin down his own archetype. He’d fancy himself a hero in his younger years, his life dedicated to justice and fairness, but as the years passed by the title of hero felt more and more unfitting. Presumptuous, even. He feels he fancies himself a main character and yet his author can’t quite figure out his core archetype. A hero feels presumptuous and out of time, a love interest requires another, a villain feels wrong on so many different levels, and to relegate himself to a subcategory of secondary character somehow still feels incorrect.
Back then, he knew who he was with Chongyun, at least. Now, he knows who he has to be in front of which audience.
Chongyun. Chongyun. Chongyun. The name still feels sweet on his tongue despite the stain of salt.
In a true reflection of the years, Chongyun has grown into his title as Liyue’s beloved exorcist. Xingqiu has heard of multiple instances in which Chongyun’s reputation precedes him. Xingqiu didn’t realize quite how much had changed until they met.
Chongyun is taller now, broader. Years of training and experience paint a regal figure of solid, unshakable ice. His hair is longer, held together by a red tie unmistakably gifted by the adepti and Xingqiu only feels a little jealous.
The adepti are still something of a sore subject between them.
A face of ice and a heart of clear water. All the changes Chongyun could’ve undergone, Xingqiu knows—however pathetically, however shamefully—that he’d know him anywhere with those words alone.
He sighs, running his fingers across the silk of his sleeves, and types a reply.
Xingqiu 6:46PM
Sure. I’ll see you then.
Xingqiu comes to the conclusion that the distance he is from the Wanmin is inversely proportional to the amount of air entering his lungs. Based on the scientific evidence that is how close he is to passing out in comparison to how close he is to their…meeting.
It’s not a date. He reminds himself. You brought this on yourself.
In hindsight, this last effort to salvage what he can of his most important relationship feels much more trouble than it’s worth.
That’s a lie, nothing would ever be too much for Xingqiu if it meant Chongyun. A particularly difficult month of self reflection proved that.
However, it wasn’t a lie that he desperately needed a date to finally get his family off his back.
Truly, only such involved and immersed parents would have ever attempted to set foot into the tangled mess of Xingqiu’s love life but each match, each potential chance at love, none of them would ever have been able to compare to the first. There was just no necessary reason that it needed to be Chongyun.
Theoretically, he could’ve asked anyone. A friend he’d made in his travels, an attempted match that ended in a mutual agreement to stay friends, maybe even Hu Tao herself if he really pushed it.
(He wouldn’t though, like really wouldn’t. Dealing with Hu Tao once is enough.)
Theoretically, it could’ve been anyone.
In practice, it could really only be one person.
He slows to a stop in front of the Wanmin, bustling with life as it always has and it feels just a little like it always has, like coming home.
He spots Chongyun on the other side of the room and whatever’s left of the air inside his lungs dissolves.
His hair is done differently, pushed back to show more of his face, soft strands framing ice blue eyes in a way that almost seems perfect, the line of his neck, his collar just barely peeking out of his clothes.
It’s criminal.
Clear blue eyes meet his, holding him hostage under the warm light, an electrifying shock running down his spine, feet frozen in place.
Then Chongyun smiles, something small, cordial and polite. He smiles differently. Xingqiu thinks, at least.
Xingqiu realizes with a start that this is his client smile. Reserved, guarded, something in his gut twists at the wrongness of it all.
He almost laughs, how reckless of him to think that of all things this would stay the same. After he’d so undeniably relinquished his right to see Chongyun smile so genuinely. The memory of such a lovely smile that Xingqiu can’t see, much less cause.
His heart cracks as he closes the distance.
“Hello, Xingqiu,” Chongyun says, tone even and polite.
“Hello, I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Xingqiu smiles as he takes his seat. “Have you ordered?”
Chongyun nods, “I hope you still like shrimp.”
And maybe Xingqiu has given too much away. The horrible, desperate way he’s loved Chongyun for half his life and more, given away without a mere thought. Maybe Xingqiu has given too much away, heart bare and pathetically open, defenseless under ice blue eyes and the underlying scent of qingxin.
A last ditch attempt at reconciliation with the one person he cares about most.
Xingqiu isn’t stupid, quite far from it. All the hope he has funnelled almost entirely into the possibility of forgiveness.
Xingqiu wants. Selfishly and without abandon. Xingqiu wants the impossible. Xingqiu wants more.
Xingqiu settles, and hopes what he’s given is enough.
“Yeah,” he says, breathless. “Yeah, shrimp is good.”
It’s just before noon, Xingqiu hasn’t shown up yet and Chongyun is early.
The Wanmin is quieter in these hours, the liminal space in between breakfast and lunch.
“And you agreed to this because?” Xiangling asks, helping herself to another bite of Jueyun Chili Chicken.
“Because!” He replies, sipping his water, “because.”
Xiangling levels him with a look that could burn him on the spot. “So you agreed for the Mora?”
“What? No!”
“So you would’ve done it without the Mora?”
“Wh– hey!” Chongyun flushes, glaring at her as she continues eating. “I get the feeling this isn’t very fair.”
“It isn’t!” She replies happily, focused on attempting to keep Guoba away from her food. “Now tell me, why did you agree?”
Because he’s Xingqiu. He thinks, because he’s had an iron grip on my heart ever since I met him and he’s never thought to let go and I never thought to let him.
“If I say it was for the Mora, would you believe me?” He tries, patting Guoba’s head for reassurance.
“Nope!” Xiangling says brightly, chewing on another piece of chicken. “So, spill. What made you agree to essentially fake date your ex-boyfriend who, last I checked, you are still pissed at.”
“I am not!”
“You so are!”
“I am not fake dating my ex-boyfriend!”
“What else would you call this?” She gestures around him. “You reserve a spot in my restaurant in what you know is the best seat in the house for a meeting? There’s something else behind this.”
“Can’t two exes just catch up in your restaurant without being heckled?”
“Not when it’s you two!” She singsongs. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
“What question?” He hopes that playing dumb will buy him more time as the lunch rush arrives.
“Don’t play dumb with me, Chongyun,” Xiangling says pointedly. “Why did you agree?”
Chongyun is silent, picking on his food as he answers softly, “I don’t know.”
He doesn’t meet Xiangling’s eyes, he knows the soft sadness that awaits him there. He hasn’t yet forgotten what Xiangling said to him when he’d told her.
“I thought– I thought, of all of us, you two would be the ones to make it work. To last.”
“Just–” her voice startles Chongyun out of his thoughts, “—don’t get hurt on the way, okay?” She says softly, eyes holding a warm, earnest kindness.
I trust you. She says, please know what you’re doing.
“I won’t.”
Xiangling stands, holding her plate with her as Chef Mao calls her to prepare. “Don’t let Xingqiu get hurt either.”
“I would never.” Chongyun says, steadfast and determined.
“You wouldn’t,” she smiles, something secretive, something knowing and unendingly sad. “But he might slip and fall.”
“I’ll catch him.”
Xiangling smiles again, genuine in her happiness, “I know you will.”
She leaves, taking the dishes with her. “I’ll prepare your food.”
Chongyun smiles at her before she leaves, warmth receding back into the kitchen where she’s found her home. Chongyun glances down at his half finished glass of water, watching as the ice slowly spreads over the surface in a thin layer of fractals. Beautiful and fragile.
The spider webbing form reminds him of a memory long gone, a frozen flower and a shining smile, a glowing piece of cor lapis and the softness of petals in his hair.
Chongyun looks up when the door opens, seeing the customers pour in with no Xingqiu in sight. He breathes a sigh, whether it’s of relief or disappointment is anyone’s guess, least of all his.
The table where he’s seated has the best view of the restaurant, isolated but not alone, bright but not too noisy. He thinks that if he ran his fingers under the table, he might find the shallow carving of a heart splattered in stray pen ink.
He used to run his fingers over the heart every time he’d sit here. A small, tangible reminder of love and belonging to the one who’s owned his heart for eternity and then some.
He doesn’t run his fingers over it anymore.
The door opens and Xingqiu is staring at him and he falls all over again.
Signature flowing sleeves and silken robes, Xingqiu paints a picture of elegance and regality in his movements. Part of his hair braided to the side and secured with a simple golden comb with a singular cor lapis stone carved to perfection. His light silk in contrast with a deep navy overcoat that’s been his color for decades, Xingqiu is a portrait of grace woven by the most careful hands.
Chongyun thinks, not for the first time, that Xingqiu might be the single most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
A flash of Xingqiu’s smile flits through his memory. Reserved and polite and the realization hits him, his stomach dropping as if falling from Qingyun Peak, this Xingqiu is not his, this Xingqiu does not want him.
He smiles, strained under the twist of his heart. “Hello, Xingqiu,” he says. He wishes he was saying something else, something stupid, something reckless.
Hello, love. A'Qiu. Dear. Xing'er. Darling. Love. Love. Love.
“Hello, I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” He says, taking his seat. “Have you ordered?”
The proximity makes Chongyun laugh, how could someone so close be so far away?
I miss you. He wants to say, what happened? I miss you, how are you? His heart is in his throat and he feels breathless. Heartsick. I miss you, did you miss me?
He nods. “I hope you still like shrimp.”
“How are you?” Xingqiu asks once their food is served, accompanied by a pointed, questioning look from Xiangling. Xingqiu tries to reply I’ll tell you later with a look in his eye, but he doesn’t think it quite works.
It’s never quite worked with anyone who wasn’t Chongyun.
Xingqiu pours himself another cup of tea as Chongyun spins him a story of his most recent expedition, a trip to Dragonspine that turned into an investigation commission from a group of Mondstatian adventurers.
“And I met with the Knights of Favonius once the commission was finished. Their Cavalry Captain was especially interested in how it all happened.”
Xingqiu looks up at the mention of Mondstat’s Cavalry Captain, and a part of him wilts as he does so.
“He’s a Cryo vision holder just like me.” Chongyun says, a small, genuine smile on his face that makes what’s left of Xingqiu’s heart slowly chip away. “Our skills really complement each other, it was exhilarating fighting with another Cryo user.”
He smiles again, and the undeniable truth that Xingqiu will never be the cause of that smile, could never be the cause of that smile ever again, hurts more than he cares to admit. It speaks volumes, the picture of Chongyun smiling while Xingqiu yearns and yearns for a place in a heart that can’t be his.
He wants to say: Would you ever smile at me like that again? Could you stomach it? If I asked, could you love me and bear it? He wants to say: If I asked you to forgive me, to want me back, could you? I’m sorry, I love you. He wants to say: I love you, how selfish, how horrible.
“That’s interesting,” he says instead, “I should meet him sometime.”
Chongyun nods, “you’d get along well, I think.”
Xingqiu hums in what he hopes comes across as agreement. If the Crystal Shrimp he’s shoved in his mouth is hotter than he’s used to, well, better to shut him up before he says something stupid.
A moment passes, something on the border of familiar and uncomfortable.
“I missed you.” Chongyun says, quiet baritone cut by chopsticks on porcelain.
“What?” Xingqiu’s heart stops, hands freezing in place.
Chongyun flushes, he looks just as shocked as Xingqiu feels. “I–” He takes a breath, “it’s nothing.”
It’s an exit. He realizes. Chongyun is giving him an exit and Xingqiu can’t possibly know if he wants to take it.
“I– ah,” Xingqiu stutters, heat creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. “Likewise.”
This is going to be an absolute disaster.
This is an absolute disaster.
Chongyun internally groans as he takes his leave, bidding goodbye to Xingqiu and Xiangling before breaking out into a near sprint out of the Wanmin.
The warm sunset air greets him as he does so, and he sees Xingqiu in every step he takes.
Xingqiu’s laugh under the lanterns, unrestrained and gleeful as he pulls Chongyun along the harbor.
He’s been cursed, he thinks immediately, somehow Xingqiu cursed him and Chongyun thinks it might be a problem how okay he is with that.
Xingqiu heaving as Chongyun falls under him, another afternoon spent training, sparring.
“Yield.” Xingqiu breathes, thighs bracketing Chongyun’s torso as his hands hold the dull end of his sword to the other man’s throat. “Do you yield?”
Yes. Chongyun wants to say immediately, smitten and in love. To you who owns my heart, I yield my everything.
Chongyun looks up and sees he’s been walking far longer than he thought he has, the gates to Liyue just a few paces behind him. He turns to see the towers above him, tall and imposing and a beacon that once upon a time meant home.
“Chongyun!” He hears, the sound his only warning before his arms are filled with navy blue silk, “you’re back!”
The boy in his arms is smiling an overwhelming brightness, and Chongyun almost feels like he’s staring straight into the sun.
“I’m back,” he laughs, the boy in his arms laughs with him, wrapping his hands around Chongyun’s neck, oblivious to how it makes his heart pound.
“I missed you.” He says after a moment, lips so close to his cheeks, his ear, his breath so close it almost tickles.
Chongyun exhales, hands on the boy’s hips as he whispers back, “I missed you too.”
“Yunyun!” He hears from the gate, arms opening on instinct.
Blue silk fills his vision, amber eyes piercing with joy.
“Hello, A'Qiu.” He laughs as the boy jumps into his arms, “did you miss me?”
Chongyun runs his hands up and down the boy’s back, enjoying the closeness, the feeling of silk in his palm, something yearning, something wanting. The boy looks up at him, eyes shining with a determination that Chongyun is no stranger to.
For a moment, they just stare. A soft amber meeting ice blue eyes in a way that screams belonging.
Then– then.
The boy rushes up to kiss him and it’s far from perfect. Their teeth clack together, mouths slotted at an awkward angle but Chongyun can’t bring himself to care. He feels a familiar warmth growing in his chest as he reaches to cup the boy’s face, dark blue locks framing the perfect picture of love, guiding them to something more natural, comfortable.
The air feels thin when they separate, as if all of time and space has left them alone for this one moment.
The boy looks at him and in the amber all Chongyun can see is love.
“I love you.” He whispers, lips brushing over Chongyun’s with every word. “I love you.” He says again, louder, more lovely, as if he’s delighting the weight of the words in his mouth. “I love you.”
Chongyun looks at the boy he’s loved since he knew what love was. Holding him in his arms, he feels the kind of all encompassing love poets write so much about. The kind that makes you reckless, to throw caution into the wind and dive headfirst, love. He holds him closer and whispers the same way the boy used to, “I love you too.”
Xingqiu isn’t there to greet him when he returns. Three years since they last saw each other and Xingqiu can’t even bother to see him.
Perhaps it was foolish of him to attach the concept of home unto a person, but walking through the Liyuen gates feels incomplete without a swath of blue silk.
The incomprehensible loss he feels when he passes through the city gates leaves an ache in his arms. The ghost of a weight pulling him down and greeting him with love, love, love.
The merchants trying to get his attention, the splash of the sea on the docks, the Feiyun Slope’s frankly ridiculous amount of stairs.
Only a fool would attach the concept of home to something as intangible as love.
Chongyun breathes out, and keeps walking.
Chongyun finds himself in front of a pond filled with lotus heads just outside the harbor’s borders. He looks up as the comings of a storm makes itself known over the mountain and quickly rushes up the stairs of the tower overlooking the city. It’s late enough at night that the city lights up, and everything feels so small beneath him.
It’s beautiful, the warm glow of lanterns and candles filling the air with a fiery light, the light mist brought upon by the rain makes it look surreal in this light. It’s moments like these that Chongyun realizes how truly fitting the name “The Sea of Clouds” is for Liyue Harbor.
It’s beautiful, it’s incomplete.
There’s a missing shade of blue by his side, warmth replaced by empty air. It’s almost pathetic how much he yearns.
Why did I even agree to this? He thinks back to Xiangling’s question. It wasn’t for the Mora, even without Xingqiu he had plenty of savings on his own. If it was for revenge then Chongyun is dumber than he thought. What kind of revenge involves playing directly into your opponent’s hands? To have yourself at their mercy, to shape you like clay.
Why did I agree to this? He asks himself, as if he doesn’t already know the answer. As if it isn’t written in the way he still watches for Jueyun Chilis in his food, the way navy in the corner of his eye still makes his heart race, the way the first thing he looks for in any expedition is a piece of literature.
It’s a horrifying realization to come to terms with, that the one who broke your heart still owns it.
He takes a deep breath, reciting mantras in his head before heading down the tower.
“It’s just a few more days.” He says to himself. “A few more days and then we go back to the way it was.”
Something in his heart breaks at the prospect, pieces scattered along the grass.
He reaches for a popsicle out of habit, fingers brushing empty air, he realizes he might need to drop by Wanmin once he returns to the city.
He sighs, and makes the long trek back home.
Chongyun’s training doesn’t bother Xingqiu. It really doesn’t.
Except maybe when he leaves for too long unannounced, or when Xingqiu finds a note and an empty space left before dawn, or when he leaves, and leaves, and leaves.
Maybe Chongyun’s training bothers him a little bit.
Chongyun is staying tonight though, which is the most important thing. (When did that take precedence over anything else?)
He can hear his father in his mind’s eye. “I don’t want my son to be a sailor’s maiden.” He says over dinner, warm noodles steaming on the table. “He makes you happy, but you’re better than that.”
Xingqiu had lashed out then, “I am not a sailor’s maiden.” He says with an unshakable confidence.
His father sighs, and says nothing.
A month later, Xingqiu finds himself at the gates waiting for someone.
A woman sees him, he never learned her name, waving him over before staring longingly back out at the mountains.
“Waiting for him again?” She asks, clearly trying to make conversation. Xingqiu doesn’t know how frequently he’s been visiting until that moment.
He realizes with a start, looking out at her waiting for her love to come home, that he’s become a sailor’s maiden. Someone waiting and wanting, hope tethered to an imaginary thread guiding his love home. He supposes it’s romantic, in a way he doesn’t enjoy.
I am you, he realizes, looking over at the woman waiting ever so patiently for her husband. Something tragic and ugly festers in his heart at the thought.
I am you, he realizes. I don’t want to be you.
It’s not as if he was shackled to the city, but he certainly had less freedom to gallivant around ever since his brother inherited the business. Surrounded by contracts and the beating heart of the silk trade, he finds very little time to go out and about past the Harbor’s borders.
It’s not as if Chongyun is shackled to his training either, but the adepti are eternal beings with knowledge spanning centuries. They hold the key to Chongyun’s growth as an exorcist and as a person. Xingqiu could never– would never fault Chongyun for chasing after something so dear.
Xingqiu is sure if he asked, Chongyun would stay in the Harbor. If Xingqiu asked, Chongyun would shackle himself down to the city with him, love and belief would keep him there so long as Xingqiu asked.
Xingqiu never asks, how could he?
How cruel could he be to shackle his love to his city when there’s so much for him? The adepti are notoriously choosy with their disciples, if they wish to have any at all. How could he, in good faith, lay ruin to Chongyun’s dreams like that?
So Xingqiu never asks, and Chongyun always leaves.
The conversation happens like this, Xingqiu greets Chongyun, the love in his heart all too large. They eat at the Wanmin, they laugh, Chongyun smiles at him and the weight in his heart grows that much more unbearable.
On top of Mt. Tianheng, they are alone. Overlooking the harbor as it lights up for the evening, a floating beacon of home for sailors at sea.
They’re seated together, shoulders knocking and legs tangled in each other as Xingqiu lays his head on Chongyun’s chest. His heartbeat is smooth, calm and content. Xingqiu raises Chongyun’s hand to his lips, leaving a kiss on worn knuckles. I love you. He leans up, placing a kiss on his jaw. I love you. He shifts, taking Chongyun’s lips with his in a slow, soft and languid kiss. I love you.
Chongyun is so beautiful like this, the warm glow of the city and the soft moonlight making him look ethereal. Ice blue eyes softening in adoration.
“I love you.” Xingqiu says. “But I can’t do this anymore.”
Chongyun blinks in confusion, slowly wilting the longer he looks at Xingqiu’s expression. “What?”
“I can’t keep waiting for you.” He whispers, “I love you, Yunyun, but I can’t keep waiting for you.”
Xingqiu cradles Chongyun’s head in his hands, it feels criminal how he still leans into the touch. He looks at him in earnest confusion, as if he’s a puzzle to be solved.
“It hurts, seeing you leave.”
“Then ask me to stay.” Chongyun whispers, as if he’s terrified the words would shatter if he said them any louder. “You know I will. Ask me to stay and I will.”
Xingqiu laughs, wet and sad. “I can’t do that to you. Not when you still have so much ahead of you.”
“So that’s it? This is how it ends?” Chongyun says hurt lining his every word, flinching away when Xingqiu attempts to wipe his tears.
“I think so.” Xingqiu’s heart splinters, the instinct, the urge to reach, to keep. I’m sorry, I love you, please stay with me. Desperate words get caught in his throat, ending before they begin.
Xingqiu shuts his mouth and looks back at the city, warm and oblivious to his troubles. When he looks back Chongyun is looking at him with the most naked hurt he’s ever seen.
It’s overwhelming, frost biting his skin in betrayal and understanding.
They stand there in silence, casting shadows on the ground below. A picture of misery and horrifying regret.
Chongyun leaves the next morning without so much as a note.
When he returns, Xingqiu isn’t waiting for him anymore.
“I second Tao, this is the worst idea you’ve ever had.” Xiangling admonishes him. The Wanmin’s been closed for hours and Xingqiu still hasn't left his table. In what felt more like a confession of guilt than an anecdote, Xingqiu tells her everything he’s told Tao.
“I know that!” He hisses, crossing his arms and leaning in his seat. “I just–” He cuts himself off as the door opens, revealing light hair and ice blue eyes.
“Hey Xiangling have you–” Chongyun cuts himself off as he looks up, and a part of Xingqiu wilts at his change in expression, something guarded and unreadable. “Xingqiu.”
Xingqiu’s heart stutters, “Chongyun.”
“Oh, Chongyun!” Xiangling says easily, the tension in the room dissipating slightly. “Did you need something?”
“Ah– yes actually.” He replies, expression opening in a way Xingqiu hasn’t seen in three years. “I’m running out of popsicles and I was hoping I could get some in advance.”
Xiangling smiles brightly, “of course! I’ll go get them right away.”
She slips away despite Xingqiu’s desperate glances of please don’t leave me alone.
A moment passes, and Chongyun takes the seat across from him.
“I heard the aunties talking about you earlier.” Chongyun says, staring distantly at a painting on the wall. “Glad to know Liyue’s gossip network hasn’t slowed down in my absence.”
At the mention of gossip, Xingqiu’s focus sharpens to a point. Ah, he thinks, that’s what this was.
In all his thinking over what Chongyun meant, he’d almost forgotten about the contract. All of this is under false pretenses, he nearly slaps himself at the thought, you know this.
“Of course.” He says, voice carefully even, “your acting skills are much better than I thought they’d be.”
Chongyun doesn’t say anything, instead tracing the pattern of wood on their table. It should be criminal, Xingqiu thinks, that he makes even that attractive.
“The gala is in three days, right?” Chongyun asks, “should we meet your parents before then?”
Xingqiu should be saying no. They’ll be meeting his parents at the gala anyway, no matter how he attempts to avoid them. More importantly, the less time spent with his ex-fake-boyfriend is probably for the best.
If Xingqiu was a better man, he would have said no.
But Xingqiu is selfish– selfish enough to plunge himself into the deep end for a chance at Chongyun’s time, his attention.
“I’ll have something arranged.”
Chongyun hums, and the room is quiet once more.
Xiangling comes out of the kitchen holding a container labeled “for Chongyun”. “Hey!” She says brightly, “sorry to keep you waiting, everything should be here.”
Chongyun thanks her, taking the box from her hands.
The moment that follows plays in slow motion, from thought to words spilling out without consideration.
Xingqiu’s always been the more reckless one.
“Walk me home?” Xingqiu asks, a familiar routine in his tone, his words.
For a short, mortifying moment the entire room is silent. Xingqiu’s words catching up to him and oh, Archons– he’s ruined everything.
“For the ruse, of course.” He rushes, panic threading into his words as he attempts to save something doomed.
Xiangling looks at him with an expression that says, plainly, what the fuck are you doing?
Chongyun’s expression is confused, less guarded and Xingqiu counts that as his victory.
“Okay.” Chongyun says after a moment, as if Xingqiu hadn’t gone through twelve breakdowns and then some in the eternity he took to make his decision.
Xiangling turns to Chongyun, giving him a similar look of what the fuck are you doing?
Xingqiu swallows, “Okay! Let’s go?”
Chongyun nods, and they head out into the warm night.
The walk from Chihu Rock to the Feiyun Commerce Guild is short but no less watchful. Chongyun is keenly aware of the attention they’ve garnered as Liyue’s beloved exorcist and the second son of the Feiyun Commerce Guild. Though few know of what actually happened between them, the rumor mill has circulated enough times that being seen together always seems to spark interest.
He keeps pace with Xingqiu and wonders just how acceptable it’d be to slot his hand into his, to cross the line, erase a few spaces, know the warmth of his palms in the late evening.
Well– not warmth, per se. Xingqiu has always run cold the same way Chongyun has always run warm. Xiangling used to joke that it’s what made them perfect for each other. Yin and Yang, she’d say, and Xingqiu would laugh and Chongyun would trip and fall for the boy in front of him all over again.
The man who stands beside him now is different in a way that feels intangible. He dresses the same way, with the same colors and the same flair, his hair, now longer, held up by a golden crown.
If Chongyun was less of a fool in love, he wouldn’t be treasuring the prospect of relearning him. All Xingqiu’s faults and all his treasures.
The universe is cruel in far more ways than you think. The words echo in his head, looking over Liyue from the peak of Mt. Aocang.
But Shijie, he’d said, is the universe not also kind in equal measure? The universe runs on equality. Balance. He’d said, does it not return its cruelty with kindness of equal value?
A light hum, only the universe has that answer.
Looking at Xingqiu now, Chongyun thinks he’s found the universe’s answer. In equal parts kindness and cruelty, Xingqiu is paradoxical in all the best and worst ways. An answer and a question wrapped in navy blue silk and flowing white shirts. Trouble lined in gold.
As the gates of the Feiyun Commerce Guild come into view, Chongyun feels something rise in his chest. Fear, expectation, relief.
“Chongyun.” He hears over the warmth. Xingqiu moves closer to him, far too close to be considered ordinary. “I learned something from Yun Jin.”
“What is it?” He whispers, Chongyun can feel his breath on his cheek, the perfume oil he’s wearing smells distantly of Silk Flowers– too close.
“Do you trust me?” Xingqiu whispers, and Chongyun aches.
Yes, with my life. Yes, with my heart. Yes, with my everything.
He nods, afraid of spilling something too honest, too vulnerable under the pavilion lights.
Xingqiu takes a deep breath, amber eyes glinting in the light with something unreadable. His long lashes flutter closed and Chongyun feels the pressure of Xingqiu’s thumb against his lips.
And Xingqiu leans in. And Chongyun thinks this is what the universe means by cruelty.
Here is everything you’ve ever wanted and ever will want. Here is everything as a reminder that none of it will ever be yours.
The pressure is gone far too soon and Chongyun has to restrain himself from giving chase to the lips that have plagued him for half his life and more. When he opens his eyes he almost expects something different, Xingqiu’s lips stained kiss-pink and an overwhelming adoration written plainly on his face.
When he opens his eyes, Xingqiu is here, quiet, eyes guarded and lips smiling something soft and sad.
“Goodnight, Chongyun.” Xingqiu whispers, as if he hadn’t just ruined Chongyun forever. Not a single kiss, a single experience, would ever be able to compare to the feeling of Xingqiu under his lips, separated by a centimeter, it could barely even be called a kiss but Chongyun knows anything and everything else pales in comparison. Warm amber, a ghost that follows him and Chongyun yearns.
“Goodnight, Xingqiu.” He whispers, stepping backwards.
Xingqiu looks back at him, a little half smile that feels like a secret, and disappears into the building.
Fuck.
Xingqiu collapses as he closes the door behind him, the moment playing in his head over and over again, caught in between seconds.
“Do you trust me?” He’d whispered, shaking and reckless.
Chongyun nods and Xingqiu cups his face in a way that feels, achingly, like belonging. Hands moving of their own accord, resting on points they used to call home.
A stage kiss. Yun Jin had said to him, is common practice for performers with romantic roles. A way to trick the audience into thinking the characters are real. Chongyun looking at him in expectation, questioning.
A thumb in between your lips, let the audience play into your hands. Chongyun’s lips under his fingers, breath short and quiet.
Lean in, give them a show. Chongyun’s lips under his, separated by a centimeter.
Chongyun, Chongyun, Chongyun.
Xingqiu buries his head in his hands, the phantom touch of Chongyun’s hands on him burns. Each point of contact frostbitten with longing.
Even after all these years, Chongyun still feels like home.
Xingqiu groans, burying his face deeper in his hands, this is insane.
He hears a light laugh somewhere above him before someone flicks his forehead.
“Agh! What?” He complains, looking up and feeling his face scrunch up in irritation.
His brother laughs at him, an increasingly common occurrence and Xingqiu can’t say he quite appreciates it.
“Ah, such a sour expression Qiuqiu!” He’s laughing and Xingqiu’s expression tightens further.
“Gege.” He complains, hoisting himself up as he turns away, crossing his arms in some semblance of protection against his brother’s upsettingly perceptive gaze.
“Does this maybe have anything to do with a certain exorcist?” Xingzhong smiles, eyes far too knowing and tone far too mischievous. Their mother used to say where Xingqiu was logically intelligent, Xingzhong was emotionally intelligent, an excellent duo in negotiations.
Definitively not as excellent when his brother can read him like a book at the most inopportune moments.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Don’t you have other people to bother?” Xingqiu mumbles, stubbornly facing away from his brother’s prying gaze.
Xingzhong laughs at him again. Really, if he’s going to laugh this much he’ll make Xingzhong do all his paperwork on his own and see how much he’s laughing then.
“Of course, Qiuqiu.” He says, smiling eyes sparkling with mirth, “but you should probably speak to Xu before doing anything else.” His eyes move to gesture towards Xu who looks close to collapsing from stress on the spot.
Ah. Oops.
“Yes gege.” He rolls his eyes as his brother laughs lightly and leads Xingqiu closer to Xu. Not ideal but his brother is going to know anyway. Two birds with one stone, as those from Mondstat would say.
“Young Master.” Xu greets him, bowing once.
“Xu.” He says, “we have arrangements to make.”
Xu looks at him in what could only be described as unsurprised exasperation. His brother looks endlessly pleased. “With your parents?”
Xingqiu nods, Xu looks at him, appraising.
“Is this about courting?”
“Yes.”
“Someone’s courting you?”
“The other way around.”
“You’re courting someone?”
“Ah– yes.” Xingqiu looks towards his brother, pleading for help. Xingzhong gives him a smile and a thumbs up and Xingqiu is going to throttle him.
“And they are to meet with your parents?”
“Ideally.”
“Have we met them before?”
At this, Xingzhong's smile widens. Oh, he knows.
“Yes. You have.”
“Ah, Xu,” his brother interjects, “I believe arrangements are to be made with our parents and the young exorcist our dear Qiuqiu has found himself infatuated with.” For the second time. He can almost hear his brother say.
Xu lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I can’t say I didn’t see this coming.”
“Am I really that obvious?” He tries to joke but it comes out far too honest. His brother gives him a meaningful look that Xingqiu refuses to decipher. If his brother’s perceptions have figured him out already, from the desperate way he clung to Chongyun’s sleeve in their youth, from his refusal for anyone except Chongyun to call him A'Qiu, from how he still follows Chongyun’s mantra to this day, he simply chooses not to know about it.
Xu sighs again, seemingly oblivious, “I’ll make arrangements.”
The morning after, Chongyun wakes up to a messenger at his door. Bearing the seal of the Feiyun Commerce Guild, he’s struck by just how quickly Xingqiu works.
A letter of invitation.
The last time he received this, all those years ago, Xingqiu had delivered it himself.
Amber eyes filled with an excited, reckless joy, a smile bright as the sun when he said, “We’re telling my parents today.”
And Chongyun had laughed, nervous and shy, as Xingqiu held him in his arms, radiating warmth, radiating happiness.
“They love you.” He whispered, “now they’ll love you even more.”
And love Chongyun they did. Xingqiu used to joke that they loved him more than he did.
Now, though.
The message is written in immaculate calligraphy, Chongyun privately applauds Xu’s skills as he reads the invitation. Technically, a gathering like this wouldn’t require a formal summons, why invite when you can simply arrange? But, well, the gala is the day after and it’s better that everything happens sooner, rather than later.
Xingqiu has arranged for them to have dinner with his family at Xinyue Kiosk. A traitorous warmth prickles under Chongyun’s skin, hot and uncomfortable, brought on by the prospect of Xingqiu still knowing with all his frustrating certainty, Chongyun’s preference of cuisine.
Something in Chongyun feels invaded, naked and brought on the spotlight as he reads the rest of the message.
P.S., Xingqiu had added in his signature scrawl, I hope you still like Inazuman.
Another thing to add to the ruse, he sighs, running his fingers over the parchment. How unfair, the hold Xingqiu has on his heart, even after all these years.
“Xingqiu.” He whispers, as if he could hear Chongyun through the parchment. “Ah– you’re so unfair.” He complains into the empty air.
To love and to leave and be left behind and still, to love. It sounds like something straight out of one of Xingqiu’s novels, except the only thing remotely poetic here is the tragedy.
He is stained, dark blue where Xingqiu’s fingers fell to his lips, the way they cupped his cheek in what Chongyun could almost delude himself into thinking was yearning. Dark blue where Xingqiu’s eyelashes brushed on his cheek when they closed, the world falling away as the pressure under their lips shifts and Chongyun wants nothing more than to desperately move and give way. Dark blue everywhere Xingqiu has touched, Chongyun is ruined for anyone else.
You will have this, and then you will never have it again. The universe seems to whisper. You love him, he will never love you again.
The minutes feel like water slipping through his fingers, moments treasured, lost, and never seen again.
Chongyun has spent most of his life staring at what he couldn’t do and doing it anyway. When the universe whispers to him he almost does, take his coat and his sigils and find Xingqiu and tell him, stubbornly, recklessly, I love you, please. But this– this feels like something out of his hands.
Anyone else and he would’ve done it already, but this isn’t anyone else.
This is Xingqiu, and Chongyun is endlessly weak for this man. He can’t say it. The idea of hurting Xingqiu, the possibility of Xingqiu’s eyes dulling as he says I’m sorry.
Chongyun can’t say it, he can’t ruin it.
He sighs, checking the time. Late enough in the morning that he can still sleep in. He makes his way back to his quarters and lets himself fall into the awaiting sleep.
“Qiuqiu-ah,” his mother chides him, “look at you, courting right before the gala.”
The inner room of Xinyue Kiosk is elegantly decorated to reflect the values of its owners. Busying himself with tracing the imaginary patterns onto the table, he tries not to think about Chongyun.
His brother gives him an enthusiastic glance, pointing discreetly towards the door.
Almost as if on cue, Chongyun walks in and Xingqiu forgets to breathe for what feels like the thousandth time that week.
He’s dressed up for the occasion, standard exorcist robes swapped out for something almost ethereal. He’s wearing the outfit Xingqiu gifted him all those years ago, and Xingqiu thinks it might be criminal, how now is the only time he gets to see it.
Light tailored pants paired with a white turtleneck and a light gradient shirt, finished with a long, hanfu-style shirt with golden embroidery.
Criminal. Xingqiu thinks, how torturous.
He’d had that especially made on their anniversary. Unfortunately, he wasn’t necessarily able to drag Chongyun out anywhere to wear it before– well. In any case, this was the first time he’d seen him in it, as his insistence that Chongyun wear it somewhere special kept him from seeing it while they were together.
Something in his gut curls at the implication that this is special.
How unfair, Chongyun. He almost says, to be so beautiful and so out of reach.
“Hello, Yunyun!” He greets instead, hoping that his smile hides the way his heart stutters out of beat.
His mother brightens in excitement, his father looks to him in a silent question.
Xingqiu refuses to meet their eyes, instead training his gaze on Chongyun. “I’m glad you got the invitation.”
Chongyun looks at him and relaxes, smiling slightly in a way that makes Xingqiu think he’s looking at a memory. Something hazy and in love in a perfect shade of blue.
He cuts the thought there. Such delusions aren’t meant for transactional agreements.
“Ah– Hello, Xingqiu.” He greets, quiet and polite.
“You look good.” Xingqiu says, it comes out too honest. Too much given away in a single moment, he almost drowns under the weight of his own implication.
Thankfully, Chongyun just smiles and takes the space beside him.
“Chongyun-ah!” His mother exclaims after a frankly impressive amount of time, “it’s been so long!”
Chongyun laughs almost shyly under the attention, and Xingqiu wishes more than anything that this meant something, anything, real.
“He’s been busy with the guild,” Xingqiu fills in for him. Something to keep his head busy and away from thoughts of Chongyun and if he’d kissed him right now, if he’d taste the same.
“You must have many stories for our Qiuqiu.” His brother smiles something far too knowing. “Has he forced all of them out of you yet?”
Chongyun laughs at that, “I don’t think I could ever run out of stories for him.”
There’s something in his tone, something intangible laced in his words that Xingqiu can’t bear not knowing. He wants, more than anything, to dig into Chongyun the way he used to. To know all his stories, to learn and relearn his every breath, his heartbeat.
Over his mother and brother’s idle chatter, his father says something rumbling and steady. “I’m glad, you are the one Xingqiu chose.” He says, looking straight at Chongyun.
Xingqiu feels he’s missing something, the way his father seems to ask a question with his eyes and the way Chongyun answers with a steady nod.
His mother and brother look at him in quiet encouragement, support as he faces his father.
“Thank you, Feng-Zongzhu.” Chongyun says respectfully. As if Xingqiu isn’t technically the one courting him.
His father’s eyes soften almost imperceptibly, his mother notices it first.
“Aiyah baobei,” she chides her husband, “you’re scaring them.” She laughs again, turning to Chongyun, “Take care of our Qiuqiu.” She whispers, and Xingqiu would feel insulted if he wasn’t so surprised.
Everything went much better than he’d thought.
The plates come, and dinner is served under stories and warm lights.
Chongyun thinks, all things considered, the dinner was okay.
“I told you they’d love you.” Xingqiu whispers under the moonlight, he’s walking Chongyun home this time. Something about balance and equivalent exchange that Chongyun would gladly follow as an excuse to spend more time with the man beside him.
Chongyun hums, “you said that last time too.”
Xingqiu reddens at the mention of last time, eyes darting forward.
Clearing this throat, Chongyun attempts to sway the conversation somewhere else. “You haven’t asked for any stories.” He points out, something about Xingzhong's words echoing in his head.
“Ah– huh?”
“Stories,” he repeats, “you haven’t asked for a single one ever since coming back.”
Chongyun looks at Xingqiu, really looks at the man who’s owned his heart for longer than he’s ever known possible. He’s still beautiful. He realizes, startled by the normalcy by which the thought flows into his heart.
“Ah I–” Xingqiu stutters, embarrassed, “I didn’t know if I could.” He whispers and Chongyun’s heart tightens.
“Of course you could.” Chongyun replies, just as soft. “You’ve always been welcome to.” He says and maybe he’s a little more reckless than he thought. Maybe here, underneath the moonlight, he’s given everything away. Obvious mysteries and vulnerable secrets left out in the open, an invitation for Xingqiu to find him, to tear him apart.
Xingqiu blushes, eyes suspiciously shiny when he says, in the softest tone of voice he’s ever heard, “We’re here.”
The door of his home has never been more foreboding, never carried with it the faint sense of finality this moment holds.
Before Xingqiu can turn around, Chongyun grabs him by the wrist.
“Someone’s there,” he says, he lies, he revels in the cool feeling of Xingqiu’s hand in his.
Xingqiu’s eyes widen, and for a moment Chongyun is almost sure he’s caught his lie, seen through his bluff. The desperate way he clings to Xingqiu’s wrist, imploring, asking, stay with me.
Xingqiu has always seen through him, Xingqiu has known him in every way knowing him was possible. He’s taken this knowledge hostage as his own and Chongyun gives more willingly, almost in offering.
But Xingqiu only smiles, soft acquiescence, and lets Chongyun come closer.
It’s not the stage kiss they shared outside of the Guild– it’s not like any kiss they’ve ever shared prior. Chongyun reaches over and traces the line of Xingqiu’s jaw, featherlight touches that whisper of reverence, an aching sense of yearning.
Xingqiu is absolutely still.
Then Chongyun leans in, the barest brush of his lips to the corner of Xingqiu’s mouth, yearning, yearning, yearning.
It’s over in less than a second, Chongyun takes this single moment under the stars and holds it close, a jewel held in the confines of his heart, it almost feels like finality.
Here is everything you’ve ever wanted and ever will want. Here is everything as a reminder it will never be yours again.
When he pulls away, Xingqiu almost looks like he wants to say something else, and maybe he does, but Chongyun can’t bear to hear the ending with which he speaks. He has one more day, it will be his so long as Xingqiu allows. He would be Xingqiu’s so long as Xingqiu allows.
“Goodnight, A’Qiu.” He whispers, pouring everything into each syllable.
And then he turns, and then he leaves.
The day of the gala is rife with last minute decisions and preparations. Final measurements of his robes, last tastings of the catering, the morning and the afternoon passes in a whirlwind of responsibilities and checklists and everything in between.
All the while, Xingqiu falls distracted, mind wandering, catching him at the most inopportune moments.
“Trouble in paradise?” Xingzhong jokes, and some part of Xingqiu feels bitter about it.
The ghost of Chongyun’s lips keep him distracted, how if he’d just moved his head in the slightest, he’d take what he’s so desperately craved. The corner of his lips spark when he touches them, freezing and melting all at once.
He’d clung to the idea that Chongyun was lying like it was a lifeline. Even if Chongyun can’t lie, not to Xingqiu, not without being painfully obvious.
“Qiuqiu.” His brother startles him out of his thoughts, “work!”
“Yes, yes!” He scrambles, finishing the paperwork he was looking over in preparation for the gala. “Working.”
Then evening falls, and the plaza lights up with his hard work.
He attends in an elaborate dark blue hanfu, golden embroidery running over his sleeves as the layers on his chest shine with white and gold silk. Gilded heels click as he walks, he feels comfortable– expensive.
Xingqiu finds Chongyun on the outskirts of the plaza, alone, seemingly unsure of his position. That won’t do.
He looks more like an adeptus than a mere mortal like this. White robes cut an exquisite figure as they drape over solid lines. A spattering of red under his eyes contrasted with the blue of his eyes, his hair, the accents in his robes. He looks beautiful.
“Chongyun!” He waves him over, linking his arm into his, “last day of the ruse, how are we feeling?”
Something about Chongyun feels off– almost reluctant when he smiles. “Ready when you are, Qiu.”
Xingqiu takes his hand, ignoring the electrifying energy that zips through him, and smiles as he brings him in, the gala beginning in earnest.
The Grand Hall of the Feiyun Commerce Guild is known for its opulence. Large, tall ceilings lined with gold and jade, it’s a hall befitting the Guild’s reputation.
Xingqiu lets go of Chongyun’s hand, mourning the warmth that leaves him, but keeps their arms linked. An unspoken expression. Ownership on both sides.
They fall into an almost nostalgic pattern after that. Chongyun’s hand falling to the small of his back and Xingqiu revels in it. The subtle brand of ownership that tastes like Mist Flowers on his tongue. He’d even changed his perfume oil to match, the Qingxin infused scent slowly becoming his signature as he makes his rounds.
Chongyun stays by his side throughout it all, solid and steady to his right that feels, achingly, like this is where he should be. Chongyun and Xingqiu.
He wishes, deeply, selfishly, that this night could last forever.
Chongyun beside him, steady and comforting in a way only coming home can rival. He does not look at any time pieces as the whole night goes on. If his time with Chongyun is numbered, he’d much rather live in ignorant bliss than count it down.
“Yunyun,” he whispers, giving Chongyun his only warning before placing a kiss on his cheek, chaste and sweet and aching.
And Chongyun looks at him, and only looks at him. So intensely it’s almost terrifying.
“You had something on your face.” Xingqiu whispers, and suddenly everything feels like it’s going far too fast far too soon.
Chongyun looks at him, eyes suddenly guarded and unreadable in the warm light of the lanterns. “I’m going to go get some air.”
Chongyun steals away, and Xingqiu feels a piece of his heart follow.
“Wait,” he whispers, fingers curling selfishly onto Chongyun’s sleeve like they’re still children, like he still has the right to. “I’ll come with you.”
Chongyun nods, and they find themselves in a balcony just on top of the hall, the air cool under the warm lights.
They sit there, somehow Xingqiu’s let go of Chongyun’s sleeve and the space between them echoes. Sounding and resounding a distant melancholy.
“Chongyun.” He says, because what else is there to say? Because Chongyun’s name has always felt like home on his tongue. “Tell me a story.” He pauses. “No love stories, please.” He says, soft and unsure, refusing to look Chongyun in the eye. Chongyun’s always known him best, if he looked him in the eye now there’s no doubt Chongyun would see through everything. The ruse, the kiss, the selfish, selfish way Xingqiu needs more than what he’s so graciously been given.
“You’ve always liked love stories, Qiu.” Chongyun says, a statement that seems more like a question.
What changed? Xingqiu hears, who are you?
“They make me sad.” The words slip past his lips, a soft accident that leaves them both reeling. “I– well– ah,” he stutters, trying to find the words under Chongyun’s gaze. He looks away, up and towards the sky. “I missed you.” He settles, soft and honest.
Xingqiu looks up and sees Chongyun with the most naked hurt and sadness he’s seen since that day.
“Why now,” he whispers, “you’ve always refused to see me, why now?” Chongyun leans backwards, away, and Xingqiu feels another part of his heart splinter.
“I needed time to sort things out.” He confesses, words pulled from him by a starry night and a beautiful boy, oh how easy he is for this man. “I couldn’t bear to keep seeing you leave but I couldn’t bear to be without you.” The words fall out in a jumble of rushed syllables and sentences. “I’m sorry.”
“Then why didn’t you ask me to stay?” Chongyun asks, pain lacing his tone. “You know I would have– even now I–” He cuts himself off, looking away as Xingqiu curls further in on himself.
“How could I make you choose, Yun?” He asks, answering a question with a question. “I can’t force on you the cruelty of choosing between me or your dreams. I–” He stutters, a final chance before he does something irreparable.
“I loved you too much for that. I love you too much for that.” He says, so softly he doesn’t even register the words leaving his lips until they’re gone. The damage is done and Xingqiu’s heart bursts open on the floor in front of a man whose heart he shattered. He wouldn’t blame Chongyun if he decided to step on it, returning every bit of hurt in equal force. Balance.
A quiet moment passes in between them, far too long to be considered mercy.
Xingqiu takes his time hoisting himself up, he knows when he isn’t wanted but the selfish, selfish thing in his chest forces the moment to span aeons. Repetitive motions and slow movements. His heels click as he stands, dusting himself off as he prepares to head back into the hall.
A hand reaches for him, right before he opens the door, and he freezes.
Cold warmth fills his senses as Chongyun wraps himself around Xingqiu, holding him tight. “You couldn’t have said all that sooner?” He whispers, he sounds like he’s crying.
Xingqiu feels frozen, tears slipping out as he struggles to find his bearings.
Chongyun leads Xingqiu away from the door, unwrapping himself from Xingqiu and he almost immediately mourns the loss. It must show on his face because Chongyun almost laughs through his own tears, and offers a hand for him to take.
Xingqiu takes it, how could he not?
They lean against the balcony hand in hand as the gala continues below them.
“You didn’t have to go through all that, y’know.” Chongyun whispers, running calloused pads over Xingqiu’s knuckles. It’s unfairly comfortable, having Chongyun beside him again.
“I couldn’t say it.” Xingqiu confesses. “I broke your heart.”
“And I broke yours.” Chongyun says, wiping Xingqiu’s tears, the action unimaginably comforting. He laughs again, wet and sad, “I’m sorry, A’Qiu.” He leans forward, resting his forehead on Xingqiu’s and Xingqiu wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around him and pull.
“I’m sorry, Yunyun.” He says, settling his hands in light blue hair. Fingers curling the longer locks as Chongyun sighs in content. “I’ve loved you all this time.” He whispers, a moment of quiet and finally, achingly, honest vulnerability. “I never stopped, I don’t think I ever could.”
Chongyun smiles. “Would you believe me if I said I felt the same?”
Xingqiu laughs at the incredulity of his situation. “Only if you say it.” He smiles, and wonders belatedly if this is how his brother and his friends felt, watching him trip and fall over his own feelings, over his own imagination.
He might owe Xiangling reparations for the grief he’d put her through, endless meals and hours spent listening to what must be the most inane ramblings she’d ever heard.
He’d owe Hu Tao and Xingzhong reparations too, but he doesn’t like them quite as much as he likes Xiangling. Not to mention they weren’t as much help.
“I love you, A’Qiu.” Chongyun says, breaking Xingqiu out of his thoughts as he leans in. Xingqiu rushes to meet his lips properly this time.
The kiss is perfect. Salty with tears and far too eager but Chongyun’s hands find home on Xingqiu’s hips as Xingqiu’s hands find home in Chongyun’s hair and it’s everything he could’ve ever asked for and more. It’s Chongyun, holding him as he tilts his head and Xingqiu feels the world tilt with him.
The kiss is perfect. Desperate, eager, and full of longing that tastes vaguely of Qingxin.
When they pull apart, Xingqiu feels the phantom edge of Chongyun’s fingers tracing patterns on his back. It’s everything he’s ever wanted.
Before Chongyun can move further away, Xingqiu gives chase, capturing his lips as Chongyun smiles into the kiss. Because that’s something he can just do now. Because he’s waited far too long for this moment and he isn’t ready for it to end so quickly.
“Shouldn’t you be getting back to the gala?” Chongyun asks, criminal, criminal hands tracing patterns on his clothes, branding him with his name. Xingqiu could never ask for something better.
Xingqiu shushes him, this is the happiest he’s ever been and he says as much.
“Okay,” Chongyun smiles, mirth dancing in his eyes, “if you promise to stay with me.”
It’s in jest, of course, there could never be a Xingqiu without Chongyun. Always a set, with no spaces in between. Chongyun and Xingqiu. ChongyunandXingqiu.
“Of course,” he whispers, partly because he means it and partly because if Chongyun doesn’t kiss him again he might well go mad.
Chongyun laughs again as Xingqiu leans in, taking what’s his and maybe a little more.
“I love you, Qiu.” Chongyun whispers, reckless with love.
“I love you, Yun.” Xingqiu kisses him, chasing his warmth as the stars seem to glow just for them.