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The night is bitterly cold. All of their extra bedding has been given to A-Jing, who is sleeping in a little space on her own for the sake of the propriety Xiao Xingchen quietly insists on—not that the little brat would recognise propriety if it slapped her in the face.
Xue Yang sighs, scowling when his breath comes out in a puff of steam visible even in the darkness, and huddles a little deeper into his blankets.
“Are you alright, my friend?” Xiao Xingchen’s voice is quiet, soft as the moonlight and full of gentle concern.
Xue Yang rolls over on his sleeping mat, curling onto his side so he can see the faint outline of Xiao Xingchen’s profile. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“Mm, so did I,” Xiao Xingchen says with a rueful laugh. “But it appears I need to spend some time on my cultivation—my ability to rise above earthly discomfort is sorely lacking.”
Xue Yang grins. “Your shivering woke you up, huh?”
He loves Xiao Xingchen's laugh, and loves more to be the cause of it. It sounds like victory to Xue Yang’s ears, sweet and satisfying, and never fails to send a little thrill down his spine. His smile grows wider, and he shuffles to the edge of his mat.
“It did! It’s unseasonably bitter tonight—are you alright, are you comfortable enough? I’m sorry we don’t have better sleeping arrangements. I’ll try to sort something better out tomorrow.”
“You worry so much, no wonder you woke up,” Xue Yang teases, drawing another soft laugh from the darkness. Then he gives a dramatic, put-upon sigh. “I am cold though. I keep shivering in my blankets.”
The best part is that it isn’t even a lie. Though the blankets are as thick as Xiao Xingchen could find, Xue Yang’s skin is still pebbled with gooseflesh, and his toes are like ice.
Xiao Xingchen makes a soft noise of concern. “I’m sorry—here, let me.”
After a moment, the weight of extra blankets settles over Xue Yang like a shroud. Xiao Xingchen even tucks him in, touch light and solicitous as he makes sure there are no gaps to let drafts in, smoothing away the wrinkles in the rough textiles.
The ends of his hair trail over the blankets as he works, and Xue Yang pokes a hand out of the blankets, letting the silky ends brush over his palm.
“What about you?”
Xiao Xingchen’s smile is faintly visible in the darkness. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll meditate for now, and perhaps rise early to make the most of the day. Please, go ahead and sleep.”
“Ah,” Xue Yang sighs again. “But how can I sleep when I feel so guilty for taking your blankets?” The feeling of anticipatory triumph is bright in his chest, curling his lips even as he schools his voice to innocence. “Surely it’s not worth the sacrifice, when we can simply share?”
Xiao Xingchen hesitates. “Share?”
“Of course! We’re friends, aren’t we? It’s normal for friends to share blankets on a cold night—and I know I’d sleep much better for it.”
“Ah. I suppose that’s true.” Xiao Xingchen moves a little closer, hands hovering over Xue Yang and making him shiver silently. “Well… if you really don’t mind?”
It is easy from there to quickly put their mats together and spread the blankets into one warmer, larger bed. Xue Yang lounges, propped up on his elbow and watching with a grin as Xiao Xingchen hesitates for a split second before slipping under the blankets next to him.
Xiao Xingchen leaves a careful, respectful space between them, but Xue Yang breaks it immediately by shuffling towards him and slinging an arm around his waist. Their faces are so close on the pillow that he can see the weave of the cloth covering Xiao Xingchen’s ruined eyes, can feel the warmth of his surprised breath on his cheek.
“Oh,” Xiao Xingchen murmurs. “Sorry, I—”
“Mmm, that’s so much better.”
After a tiny pause, Xiao Xingchen relaxes. His hands come to rest carefully between them, like a suggestion of a barrier, but Xue Yang can feel the way his body leans imperceptibly towards him, drawn into his warmth. Xiao Xingchen wants this, wants to be close to him, to Xue Yang, and the thought sends another thrill rippling through his nerves.
“This is much more comfortable,” Xiao Xingchen admits.
Xue Yang smiles, staring unabashed and unseen at the moonlight pooling on Xiao Xingchen’s cheek. “I told you.”
“You did, and you were right, of course.”
“I guess you should listen to me more often,” Xue Yang says, idly rubbing the fabric of Xiao Xingchen’s inner robe between his fingers. Every little indulgence he takes feels like a drunken victory; here is Xiao Xingchen, so pure and unsullied, dressed in his inner robes and letting Xue Yang wrap an arm around his slender waist, allowing him to tangle their feet together like foolish lovers.
Xiao Xingchen hums. “I suppose so.” Then he breaks into a strange, little smile. “Though isn’t that all I can do, listen to you? I cannot see you, after all.”
It’s the first time Xue Yang has ever heard Xiao Xingchen allow himself anything even vaguely close to self pity or complaint. It makes his breath catch, his arm tighten, eyes wide and intent on the tiny splintering of Xiao Xingchen’s usually serene expression. He doesn’t want to miss even a moment of this.
“I don’t even know what you look like,” Xiao Xingchen continues ruefully. “You or A-Jing. Not that it matters, it wouldn’t change my regard for either of you. Still, it would be nice.”
“That’s easy—I’m extremely handsome.”
Xiao Xingchen laughs warmly, and Xue Yang thrills. “I don’t doubt it. Your voice is certainly handsome enough.”
His mouth twitches. “Is it? What else is handsome about me?”
“Now you’re being shameless.” But Xiao Xingchen’s smile is fond, his face tilted towards Xue Yang’s as if looking at him despite his blindness. “You… you are spirited and full of vigour, and you have a very clever tongue. Your body is young and strong, and you use it well—I can hear it in your movements, in your footsteps.”
They’re so close that Xue Yang is sure his heartbeat must be audible, climbing in his chest with every carefully chosen word Xiao Xingchen lays between them. Xiao Xingchen is not the kind of person to give compliments insincerely, and that makes them all the more potent.
If Xiao Xingchen knew exactly who he was giving these sweet words to, would he take them back, would they become bitter in his mouth, twisting his affectionate expression?
Xue Yang tightens his arm again, shifting ever closer, well aware that he’s pushing the boundary of what’s comfortable between ‘friends’. The blankets are so warm now with their shared body heat. He swallows, trying not to quiver with latent excitement.
“You can see for yourself how handsome I am,” he murmurs, licking his lips. “Here.”
Xiao Xingchen inhales in surprise as Xue Yang gathers his hands, draws them slowly up to his own face until those elegant fingertips rest on the apples of his cheeks.
“It’s alright. I would never ask you to give anything you do not wish to,” Xiao Xingchen whispers.
Xue Yang thinks of the way Xiao Xingchen took him in without question, never once asking his background, or the source of his wounds, not even pressing for a name when Xue Yang gave none. If he was even a little more cautious, a little less trusting…
He presses Xiao Xingchen’s fingertips to his skin a little more firmly, heart thrilling.
“I know.”
Xiao Xingchen’s lips part, a tiny furrow appearing on his brow. Even when Xue Yang finally lets go, his hands remain where they are, fingers resting lightly on Xue Yang’s cheekbones. His breath flutters across Xue Yang’s lips.
“Then,” he says softly, “please excuse this humble one.”
When his fingertips start to move, Xue Yang’s eyes flutter. It feels good, gentle and more tender than he can remember ever having experienced before—but more than that, it feels thrillingly dangerous. If Xiao Xingchen maps his face out well enough, will he finally recognise Xue Yang for who he is?
Xiao Xingchen brushes gently along Xue Yang’s cheekbones, sliding up until he reaches the edge of his hairline. Shivers run down Xue Yang’s spine. It feels like delicious anticipation, and some other budding feeling he doesn’t have a name for, and he stares breathlessly into Xiao Xingchen’s face.
The touch probes delicately along the thin skin below his eyes, then skims his eyelashes, lash by ticklish lash, drawing a gasp from Xue Yang despite himself.
Xiao Xingchen pauses. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“Don’t stop.”
Xue Yang knows his voice is rough, but he’s too shaken with desire and excitement to smooth it out like he normally would. Nevertheless, it doesn’t seem to put Xiao Xingchen off. Though he sucks in a breath, his fingers don’t stop their gentle path, finally coming to rest momentarily by the outer corners of Xue Yang’s eyes.
His touch is like snowflakes, gentle and cool; Xue Yang feels like he’s melting and burning up all at once.
There’s something like laughter trying to hammer its way out of his chest. This moment is so tender, so intimate as Xue Yang courts his danger, that his head spins with exhilaration, mouth stretching into a wild grin. He inches himself ever closer, until their chests are almost touching.
Xiao Xingchen’s fingertips circle over the expanse of his cheeks, slipping around the curve of nose and chin, until they finally pause at the corners of Xue Yang’s mouth.
“You…” Xiao Xingchen says, hands trembling just a little.
Utterly breathless, Xue Yang quivers with anticipation. Is this it, the moment of recognition he’s been flirting with? Fingers trace the sensitive edge of his lower lip, the peak of his cupid’s bow.
“You have a beautiful smile.”
Xue Yang snaps like a bowstring. He surges forward, trapping Xiao Xingchen’s hands between them as he crushes their lips together in a kiss so electrified that it punches the breath out of both of them.
“Ah, wait, I—” Xiao Xingchen struggles, not to get away but to free his hands, and the moment they’re loose he cradles Xue Yang, one graceful hand going to cup his face and the other tangling in his hair.
With Xiao Xingchen in control the kiss grows more easy, their mouths moving languidly over each other, lips soft and wanting.
Xue Yang groans. When he rolls onto his back, Xiao Xingchen follows, rising over him and sealing them in the curtain of his loose, silky hair. He kisses Xue Yang with a pure intensity, pouring adoration down his throat like sweet liquor until he feels drunk with it, unable to do anything but lie there and be adored.
His identity is still hidden—Xue Yang has won this gamble. He has fooled Xiao Xingchen into caring about him, wanting him, has tangled Xiao Xingchen’s heart around his own filthy, devious fingers.
And yet, as Xiao Xingchen traces Xue Yang’s lower lip with a gentle thumb until his mouth parts, it tastes suspiciously like his own sweet defeat.