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Wen Kexing is drunk.
Zhou Zishu looks up from where he’s sitting as Wen Kexing stumbles into the room, laughing, cheeks pink, eyes almost closed as he nearly falls and barely catches himself against the table.
“A-Xu,” he whines, smiling, and he looks young like this, no hint of bitterness in his face. He doesn’t look like the chief of Ghost Valley right now. He looks human and young and so beautiful Zhou Zishu’s chest aches with it. “A-Xu,” Wen Kexing repeats, stumbling his way around the table.
Zhou Zishu’s legs act without him willing them to, so he can stand up and open his arms and envelope Wen Kexing as he slumps against Zhou Zishu easily like he belongs there. “You’re drunk,” he says, trying to admonish him, but he likes the solidness of Wen Kexing in his arms, soft breaths against his neck. “How much did you have to drink?”
“Don’t know,” Wen Kexing laughs, sagging a little so that Zhou Zishu has to put a little more effort into holding him up. “Why didn’t you drink with me?”
“To maintain my dignity,” Zhou Zishu says, but it comes out far too fond.
He thinks if Wen Kexing were spouting poetry or was able to stand, he wouldn’t soften this easily. He also knows that isn’t true, not anymore.
Wen Kexing laughs softly and sincerely, and Zhou Zishu’s every defense feels frayed. He wants to cradle Wen Kexing’s head, and his traitorous hand does, his fingers gently smoothing over soft hair. “Dignity escapes us both,” Wen Kexing mumbles, waving a hand with little coordination.
Zhou Zishu carefully maneuvers him so he can sit Wen Kexing down at least, weight off him, but Wen Kexing’s arms easily wrap around his waist, cheek resting against Zhou Zishu’s stomach. Wen Kexing continues, “We’re soulmates, you and I.”
“In this life and the next,” Zhou Zishu murmurs, as one would to a lover, and if every part of him is betrayal, he’d take all seven nails in a million lifetimes just to be consumed by this again.
Wen Kexing tilts his head up, eyes hazy, mouth red, and there’s nothing but the softest look in his eyes, the naked truth and the raw parts of his soul so easy to see that it makes Zhou Zishu’s breath catch. “A-Xu, you’re never this sweet to me,” he says, in innocent wonder. Zhou Zishu’s heart aches because the Wen Kexing he sees most of the time is wrapped in layers of protection, all bluster and confidence but underneath all of that, hidden deep in his heart, he just wants someone to care.
Zhou Zishu can see it sometimes, only when he’s looking close enough, but it’s written so obviously on Wen Kexing’s open face now that Zhou Zishu—he wants.
“How can I be sweet when you’re too busy reciting poetry?” Zhou Zishu teases lightly, like the effort to speak normally doesn’t make his throat hurt.
“Pink blossoms fall like waves—”
The laughter bubbles out of Zhou Zishu’s chest. “Alright, enough,” he says, feeling helplessly fond. He brushes Wen Kexing’s hair away from his face. “You’re a nuisance,” he tells him, smiling.
Wen Kexing is smiling too. “I know,” he says, eyes crinkled up. “Sweet too,” he adds on, because his flirting is a reflex and he likes to play with Zhou Zishu’s words.
Zhou Zishu sighs. “So sweet, Lao Wen,” he agrees sincerely, unable to breathe at the look of complete adoration Wen Kexing gives him, gently touching Wen Kexing’s ear.
“Just sweet?” Wen Kexing asks, and normally Zhou Zishu would accuse him of fishing for compliments but right now—Wen Kexing’s eyes are like honey, and he’s leaning against Zhou Zishu with such trust it threatens to pull Zhou Zishu apart.
He pushes Wen Kexing gently back, guiding his head to rest on the pillow, threading their fingers together because he knows Wen Kexing likes the contact, because he can’t bear to let go. Wen Kexing is pliant right now, eyes fluttering as he lays there, just quietly staring up at Zhou Zishu.
“Not just sweet,” Zhou Zishu tells him, sitting right beside him, his thigh against Wen Kexing’s side. He’s unable to resist touching him, a soft brush against Wen Kexing’s temple. Wen Kexing leans a little into the touch. “You’re not usually so quiet,” Zhou Zishu notes.
“I like listening to you,” Wen Kexing mumbles. “And looking at you,” he adds on, his eyes never once leaving.
Zhou Zishu doesn’t look away either, heart melting in a way that he’d never thought was possible for him. I want to live for you, he thinks fiercely. As I never have before.
“What else?” he can’t help but ask.
“And loving you,” Wen Kexing says, like it’s easy.
Zhou Zishu kisses him chastely, just for a moment, Wen Kexing’s face cupped in both his hands, no heat behind it. There’s only affection and fondness and the hitch in Wen Kexing’s breath, the transparency of his eyes.
Window of Heaven, Zhou Zishu thinks, unable to pull away. Wen Kexing’s eyes are the window of heaven, more so than the organization he founded, more so than anything he’s ever done. If this is the only window of heaven he can create, the only slant of light in the darkness, he’ll die untortured, only a little bit wistful if just because he’s leaving this man he loves more than anything behind.
Wen Kexing blinks at him, tilting his face up so Zhou Zishu can kiss him again, softer somehow, slower. His face is warm to the touch, his lips soft. Zhou Zishu imagines his mouth tastes like wine and walnuts, like something familiar and something new, and it’s so close it’s like he can actually taste it. Zhou Zishu rearranges himself so he’s lying half on top of him, satisfied by the solidness of Wen Kexing under him, the human way his breathing stutters when one of Zhou Zishu’s hands comes down to squeeze gently at his waist.
“A-Xu,” Wen Kexing says, breathy but smiling easily. “If you wanted me in bed—”
“I know you’re easy,” Zhou Zishu replies, and Wen Kexing laughs.
“It’s so easy with you,” Wen Kexing tells him, thumbing at Zhou Zishu’s bottom lip. Zhou Zishu kisses the offending thumb, mesmerized by the way Wen Kexing’s thoughts seem to flee him as he stares.
“You’re my junior,” he says, wrapping Wen Kexing’s hand in his fingers, feeling the weight of it, aware of the strength Wen Kexing possesses but never uses against him. He presses his lips to Wen Kexing’s knuckles.
“Your lover,” Wen Kexing corrects, teasing though his eyes are vulnerable, his heart bared.
Zhou Zishu laughs quietly. “You’ll need to convince me more thoroughly,” he says, trying to push sincerity into his words. He’s satisfied when the tension in Wen Kexing’s shoulders bleeds out.
“A-Xu,” Wen Kexing chides, grinning, safe. “Are you asking me to seduce you?”
Zhou Zishu blushes despite himself. “Sleep now, you idiot,” he says fondly, pulling away but not before leaving a last press of his lips to the corner of Wen Kexing’s mouth. He stands, face warm, staring at this man who used to annoy every nerve ending of his, who bothered him endlessly and he finds he can’t even muster up mock annoyance right now.
“Call me something sweet?” Wen Kexing asks sleepily, looking beautiful and ruffled and human, laying there haphazardly like he doesn’t care for anything other than the man he’s staring up at. “A sweet name?”
Zhou Zishu laughs. “You’ll have to earn it, Lao Wen,” he says, and he hasn’t called him something special, not really, but Wen Kexing’s smile curves up anyway, and it’s the last thing Zhou Zishu sees before he blows out the candle, a smile so sweet it makes his mouth hurt too.