Chapter Text
He loved her.
Her.
He. Loved her.
Maomao whined softly as she scrunched up under the blanket. Winter had well and truly set in, and she was cold, and alone, and thinking about what her husband had said to her again. It had been a few weeks since, and she functioned as usual; Jinshi seemed to have no recollection of that conversation, which was just as well, since Maomao didn’t have any clue how respond, anyway. She could ignore it, most days, but when she had nothing to do, it crept up on her.
He loved her.
She jumped when the door slid open and closed, hearing the familiar footsteps of her husband walking in.
“Good morning,” Jinshi whispered as he crawled back into bed. “Did I wake you?”
Silently, Maomao shook her head, lifting the blanket so he could share in the warmth. She wasn’t surprised when he snuggled in closer, almost touching. Almost. He had gotten a little less clingy since… all of that. Maomao wasn’t sure how to feel about it.
A small part of her missed it.
“How was your morning?” she asked, tugging on a strand of his hair. He’d gone out on his rounds to all the concubines to check on their wellbeing after it snowed the night before. “How was everyone? Do any of them need their garments sewn with pockets or need cold medicine or anything?”
Jinshi chuckled. “You’re desperate for work, I see.”
“No offence to our home, but it’s really boring in here,” Maomao complained. “Suiren forbade me from going to my workshop since it’s not insulated in there.”
“I’ll have warmer clothes made for you so it won’t matter as much, then,” her husband promised. He rolled onto his side to face her, his carefully done hair already a mess. “By the way, Ah Duo-sama and Gyokuyou-sama asked to speak with you. Together.”
Maomao blinked. “Together?” she repeated. “As in, they want to see me…”
“… together, yes.” Jinshi looked at her. Maomao didn’t know why her chest was seizing up again. “I didn’t accept the invitation for you, but they said to let you know that it was for today, in the afternoon, at the Garnet Pavilion.”
She slipped her hands over his neck to warm her fingers up, stifling a grin at his flinch at the cold. “What time is it now?”
“A little before noon.” Jinshi took one of her hands in his to exhale onto it. “How are your hands this cold? You’re inside an insulated building, under two layers of blankets.”
Maomao shrugged, letting him repeat the process with her other hand before he stuck them back on his neck. “I run cold.” To demonstrate, she removed her hands, raised them straight up in the air, and waved them around for a few seconds. Neither of them said anything as they watched her wiggle her fingers. Then, she reached under the blanket and stuck her hand to his torso.
Jinshi’s eyes widened comically, and Maomao could feel his torso spasm and tense from the cold.
She snickered.
Her husband peeled her hand off of his skin and breathed on her fingertips, one by one. Maomao’s mind was once again brought to that night. That night.
“Do you think you’ll ever love me?” her husband had whispered. “Would you ever consider— loving me? No, that’s a big ask. Would you— do you think you’d ever be fond of me? Or… care for me at all?”
She had brushed his bangs away from his face, trying to keep her touch feather-light. She didn’t know what to say. She certainly didn’t know what she felt.
“You’re drunk, Jinshi-sama,” Maomao had settled on saying. “Let’s get you to bed.”
And he’d said “I love you”, again.
And suddenly her chest was feeling tight again. Maomao didn’t know why. She hated it. It was uncomfortable, and usually, she’d think it was some sort of heart disease, but she ate too healthily and was a bit too young for it. Plus, no one in her family had it.
Without her noticing, Jinshi had let go of her hands, and Maomao reluctantly stuffed them back into her sleeves.
“I’m going to go to the Garnet Pavilion after lunch,” she said after a minute of silence. Beside her, Jinshi hm-mm’ed to acknowledge it. Then, for some reason, she said, “Would you walk me there? It’s… I could use some company.”
Now that she was watching for it, she could see when her husband brightened the second she asked.
“Of course, wife,” Jinshi said, beaming softly at her.
Ah, there her heart went again, twisting and turning in its place whenever this man smiled at her. Maomao knew he was the reason for her heart problems, but. Well, there was not much she could do about it now, could she? She was tied to him for the rest of her life.
Maomao huffed a tiny laugh. “I can’t believe we were found out by Gyokuyou-sama three months into our marriage,” she said. “Though, it’s mostly my fault.”
“Almost entirely your fault, yes.” Jinshi yelped as she pressed her cold foot onto his thigh. “You wore the ring out! I’m not sure how much blame could be laid onto me.”
“You were the one who suggested we wear them,” Maomao retorted, turning away to feign indignation. “It can’t be my fault for wearing the ring out when it wasn’t my idea in the first place. Your pig-headed idea got us here, so you get at least a fifth of the blame, and I’m being generous.”
When she glanced back to look at him, she saw him staring at her with some… soft look. His eyes crinkled at the corners, lidded heavier than usual. His lips curved up at the corners, looking more instinctual than breathing. A light blush dusted his cheeks. Strands of his hair fell over his face, completing the image.
He looked ethereal, Maomao thought faintly. Like he wasn’t of the mortal world. Like he would outlive even the last son of a widespread lineage and outshine the last sunset.
She reached out to brush the strands of purple away from his face, feeling his skin warm underneath her hands. If she kept her hands there long enough, she knew she’d be able to detect his pulse thrumming with life. She knew if she could, she’d try to capture an image of him like this. This was her husband at his loveliest.
“What are you thinking about?” he murmured, leaning into her touch. “You have your analyzing face on.”
Maomao twisted his hair around her finger. “Nothing special,” she said, just as quiet, a touch of humour coating her words. “Just your face.”
Jinshi pouted. “My face isn’t special?”
“Not at all,” she replied, smirking softly. “The most ordinary in the land.”
“Extraordinary, I’m sure you mean. And, you know, it all belongs to you.” Her husband stared at her, eyes sparkling. Maomao used to hate his sparkles. Now… she wasn’t so sure. “Since I belong to you.”
“Don’t be dense,” Maomao scoffed. “You’re the crown prince. It is I who belongs to you, if at all.”
Jinshi shook his head the best he could with his head on a pillow, grasping her hand and lacing their fingers together. “In here,” he said, “when it is just the two of us, and we are just who we are to each other and not what the country wants us to be, I belong to you.”
Maomao’s breath caught in her throat.
“I belong to you the way we belong in this house,” he continued, his voice hushed. She wasn’t even sure if he knew he was speaking aloud at this point. “I belong to you the way the sun belongs to the sky, the way monks belong to their god. Wholly and devotedly. Body and soul. United under the eyes of our ancestors, until death, and I hope, beyond.”
She didn’t dare to interrupt. How could she? It would be like desecrating a temple.
“I belong to you,” he said, “as your husband, and I hope, as your friend. I’ll always be yours.”
The air was still with some sort of finality as he finished, eyes closed, their hands still entwined together. Maomao couldn’t feel her fingers. She wasn’t sure where she ended and he began.
A minute later, she still hadn’t found her voice. She wasn’t sure what she’d say even if she did.
Jinshi’s smile hadn’t left his face in the time that passed. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted us to be on the same page about it.”
Maomao just kept looking, looking, looking at him. Slowly, she wriggled under the blanket until she was tucked neatly against him. She felt the weight of his arm rest over her waist, bringing her ever so slightly closer. For some reason, she felt safe there, in his arms. Secure. A part of her didn’t want to leave.
Gently, she felt a quick pressure at the crown of her head. Maomao didn’t want to call it what it was, but she didn’t have a choice. She knew it. It was undeniable: it was a kiss.
It’s not like they haven’t traded kisses on cheeks, on foreheads, on the other’s hair, every once in a while. Maomao gave it if she felt generous and she saw Jinshi feeling down. And Jinshi…
Oh. He’d never kissed her before.