Work Text:
Shen Qingqiu is laughing.
The sound curls in Liu Qingge’s chest like incense smoke, sweet and suffocating. He watches him from across the courtyard, pretending he’s just passing by. Pretending his pulse isn’t stuttering.
Shen Qingqiu is radiant like the sun and his hair glints gold in the light. Luo Binghe’s red ribbon is tied soft at his wrist.
He’s happy.
Liu Qingge grips his sword tightly, trying to forget the quiet nights, almost-confessions, moments where his fingers nearly reached, heart aching with everything he never said.
The winner holds Shen Qingqiu now and all Liu Qingge does is burn.