Work Text:
Hua Cheng slammed the door to Paradise Manor harder than necessary, his jaw clenched tight with barely contained frustration.
The day had been a disaster from start to finish—brawls and disputes in the Ghost Realm, insubordinate subordinates questioning his orders, and a particularly stubborn demon who had required… forceful persuasion to honour their agreements.
All he wanted was silence. Space. Time to let the rage burning in his chest settle before he did something he’d regret.
“San Lang!” Xie Lian’s voice rang out cheerfully from the main hall, followed by the sound of quick footsteps. “You’re back! I missed you so much today.”
Before Hua Cheng could even remove his boots, warm arms wrapped around his waist from behind, Xie Lian’s face pressing against his shoulder with obvious affection.
“Gege,” Hua Cheng said tightly, not turning around. “I need a moment.”
But Xie Lian only squeezed tighter, nuzzling against his neck. “I made your favourite tea. And I found these interesting flowers in the garden that reminded me of you—they’re red like your robes and they smell so sweet. Come see!”
“Not now.” Hua Cheng’s voice carried a sharp edge as he tried to gently disengage from the embrace, but Xie Lian held on, seemingly oblivious to his mood.
“Oh! And I started reading that poetry collection you gave me. There’s this one verse I wanted to share with you—it made me think about how much I love—”
“Xie Lian.” The use of his full name instead of the usual endearment should have been warning enough. “I said not now.”
But the prince was in one of his affectionate moods, the kind where his usual reserve melted away completely. He spun around to face Hua Cheng, eyes bright with genuine joy at seeing his beloved return.
“Are you hungry? I could cook something for you. Or we could take a bath together—I know you like it when I wash your hair. Or maybe—”
“Can you please just—” Hua Cheng’s control snapped like a taut string. “—leave me alone for five minutes?!”
The words came out harsher than he’d intended, loaded with all the day’s accumulated anger and frustration. Xie Lian took a step back, his smile faltering.
“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“You never mean to,” Hua Cheng continued, the poisonous words spilling out before he could stop them. “You just do. Always hovering, always needing attention, always—” He gestured sharply. “Can’t you see I’m not in the mood for your clinginess today?”
The silence that followed was deafening. Xie Lian’s face went carefully blank, that practiced expression he wore when trying to hide how deeply something had cut him.
“Of course,” Xie Lian said quietly, his voice perfectly polite and distant. “I apologise for bothering you. I’ll… give you your space.”
He turned and walked away with measured steps, his shoulders held straight but somehow smaller than before. The sound of his footsteps faded into the depths of the manor, followed by the soft click of a door closing.
Hua Cheng stood alone in the entrance hall, the silence he’d wanted now feeling suffocating. The anger drained out of him all at once, leaving only hollow regret in its wake.
Clinginess.
The word echoed in his mind, and he wanted to tear his own tongue out for using it. Xie Lian, who had spent centuries alone, who flinched at unexpected touches, who was only just learning to express affection freely—and Hua Cheng had thrown his openness back in his face like it was something shameful.
An hour passed in suffocating silence. The manor felt hollow without Xie Lian’s gentle presence, and Hua Cheng’s regret grew heavier with each passing moment.
Finally, he couldn’t bear it anymore and went to find his beloved prince.
The guest room was empty. So was their bedroom, the kitchen, the garden. Hua Cheng searched every obvious place, calling out increasingly desperate apologies to the silence.
“Gege? Please, I know you’re here somewhere. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
Nothing.
Meanwhile, tucked deep inside the large wardrobe in one of the unused chambers, Xie Lian sat with his knees drawn to his chest, whispering harsh words to himself in the darkness.
“Stupid,” he murmured, pressing his face against his knees. “Of course he doesn’t want you hanging all over him. Why would he? You’re being pathetic, clingy, annoying—just like he said.”
His hands clenched in his hair as he continued the litany of self-recrimination. “Eight hundred years old and you still don’t know how to act properly. Still don’t know when you’re unwanted. He deserves better than someone who can’t read the room, who smothers him with unwanted affection—”
Outside the wardrobe, Hua Cheng’s frantic footsteps echoed through the halls. His voice, when it came again, was raw with panic and regret.
“Xie Lian, please! I was wrong, I was so wrong. Don’t hide from me, please. I can’t—I can’t find you and it’s killing me.”
But Xie Lian only curled tighter into himself, convinced he was doing Hua Cheng a favor by staying away. The small, dark space felt appropriate—a place for someone who had overstepped, who had been too much, too clingy, too needy.
“He’s probably relieved,” Xie Lian whispered to the darkness. “Finally has the peace and quiet he wanted. I should stay here. Should learn to give him space like a proper partner would.”
The sound of Hua Cheng calling his name grew more desperate, echoing through the manor like a ghost’s wail, but Xie Lian remained hidden, punishing himself in the suffocating darkness while his beloved searched frantically for any trace of him.
“Xie Lian!” Hua Cheng’s voice cracked with desperation. “Please, gege, I can’t find you. I’m going out of my mind here!”
Finally, in his growing panic, Hua Cheng raised his hand and released a flurry of silver butterflies. They scattered throughout Paradise Manor like glowing stars, their ethereal wings carrying them into every corner, every shadow, every hidden space.
One delicate butterfly fluttered toward the unused chamber, drawn by the faintest trace of familiar spiritual energy. It slipped through the gap beneath the wardrobe door, its soft silver light illuminating Xie Lian’s tear-stained face in the darkness.
The prince looked up in surprise as the butterfly settled gently on his knee, its wings pulsing with warm light. Even through his self-recrimination, he could feel the frantic worry it carried from its master.
“No,” Xie Lian whispered, trying to shoo it away. “Go back to him. Tell him I’m fine, that he doesn’t need to worry about me. That I’ll stay out of his way like he wanted.”
But the butterfly remained stubbornly in place, its light growing brighter as if trying to beacon Xie Lian’s location.
Moments later, rapid footsteps approached the chamber. The wardrobe door was flung open, revealing Hua Cheng’s stricken face, his single eye wide with a mixture of relief and devastating guilt.
“Gege,” he breathed, seeing his beloved prince curled up in the dark space like a wounded animal seeking shelter. “Oh, gege, what have I done to you?”
For a long moment, Hua Cheng just stared, his throat working soundlessly as he took in the sight—Xie Lian huddled in the darkness, making himself as small as possible, tear tracks visible on his pale cheeks in the butterfly’s soft glow.
...
...
When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, thick with shame.
...
...
“You said… you said you read the poetry I gave you.”
Xie Lian’s breath hitched, and he pressed his face deeper against his knees, not looking up. “I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want to hear about it. I should have kept it to myself.”
“No.” Hua Cheng’s voice cracked. “No, gege. I always want to hear about it. I gave you that book because… because I wanted to share those words with you. I wanted to know which verses made you smile, which ones reminded you of us, which ones you’d whisper to me in the dark.”
He sank to his knees in front of the wardrobe, his hands trembling as they hovered near Xie Lian, afraid to touch, afraid he’d lost the right.
“You weren’t being clingy,” he whispered, the word coming out like a confession of the deepest sin. “You were being… you were being everything I’ve ever wanted. Warm and loving and mine. And I—” His voice broke completely. “I threw it back in your face like it meant nothing. Like you meant nothing.”
The silver butterfly still rested on Xie Lian’s knee, pulsing gently with Hua Cheng’s anguish and desperate love.
“I had a terrible day, and instead of letting you comfort me the way you always do, I hurt you. I made you hide from me.” Hua Cheng’s hands clenched into fists. “I made you think your love was unwanted when it’s the only thing that keeps me sane.”
For a long moment, silence stretched between them. Then Xie Lian finally lifted his head, his eyes still wet but holding a familiar spark of gentle exasperation.
“You really are an idiot sometimes, San Lang,” he huffed softly, though there was no real anger in it—just the fond resignation of someone who loved a dramatic fool.
Before Hua Cheng could respond, Xie Lian leaned forward and pressed a quick, gentle kiss to the tip of his nose. It was such a simple gesture, but it made Hua Cheng’s breath catch with overwhelming relief.
“The wardrobe is quite roomy,” Xie Lian observed with a hint of his usual playfulness returning. “Though I suppose it wasn’t designed for two fully grown people to lay in.”
“I’m not leaving you in there alone,” Hua Cheng said firmly, and proceeded to awkwardly maneuver himself into the wardrobe space.
What followed was an undignified tangle of limbs as the tall Ghost King tried to fit himself into the confined space alongside Xie Lian. His elbow knocked against a hanging robe, his knee bumped the back wall, and somehow he managed to get his boot caught on the door frame.
“San Lang, you’re going to—” Xie Lian started to warn, just as Hua Cheng’s flailing caused them both to tumble deeper into the wardrobe in a heap of silk and startled laughter.
They ended up pressed impossibly close together, Hua Cheng’s back against the wardrobe wall with Xie Lian curled against his chest, both of them slightly breathless from laughing at the absurdity of it all.
“Much better,” Xie Lian declared, settling more comfortably against his beloved and letting his arms wind around Hua Cheng’s waist—clinging just as tightly as he had earlier, but now with the certainty that he was wanted.
“Gege,” Hua Cheng murmured against his hair, his own arms coming up to hold him close. “Cling to me as much as you want. As long as you need. Please.”
"San Lang might regret saying those words...what if i want to cling forever, you'd never get rid of me then?" Xie lian whispered, poking a bit at his beloved.
"Hm? who said i wanted to be rid of you, if gege wishes to stay forever, this one is happy to indulge"