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His Highness isn’t doing anything besides simply existing, but to Hua Cheng, it’s the best thing to witness of all.
His single eye faithfully trained on His Highness’s relaxed form where he sits at the low table, calmly reading over scrolls, Hua Cheng knows that were he mortal, his cheeks would surely ache from how big he is smiling, and for how long. Truly, to see His Highness not only enjoying but also thriving in such repose is more than enough to make his undead heart stir, enamored by the way he blinks his doe-like eyes in a nearly sleepy manner, his robes pooling around him comfortably, and the crystal ring hanging around his neck peeking out to glint in the low light of the room. Absolute bliss; Hua Cheng imagines the way he would paint His Highness in a replication of such a heartwarming scene, the way he would be careful to capture the stray stand of hair that managed to go untucked behind His Highness’s ear, or how much time he would spend making sure to detail the way his lip is lightly twisted in distant thought. He supposes he could very well just get up and paint as he so daydreams of doing, or even summon materials to his lap on the divan and while away such sweet silence together thus, but that requires moving; that requires looking away. The world around could be crumbling and burning and collapsing, and it would not be enough to make Hua Cheng part his attention from His Highness for even a second.
It’s been several, blessed decades since they married the first time, their indulgent second set of bows as recent six months ago, which means that His Highness has gotten used to some things that come freely with their union and love. This includes but certainly doesn’t stop at hot, steaming baths with scented oils to silken his long, beautiful hair, and a full kitchen to cook in as much as his heart desires, not to mention a soft, large bed to lounge, sleep and make love in, alongside carpeted floors to frolic barefoot upon, and a nearly endless garden and library both to explore and get lost in, not least of all a handsome, evergrowing armoury for his polishing and sparring needs. In short: a lot, because this very moment among others has been what Hua Cheng has made his one goal in existence be. But there’s also the surplus of the more indulgent things. For example, a terrible calligraphy student in the form of a most doting and lazy husband, or an eager taste-tester of His Highness’s culinary genius, and a cool body to cling to in the height of summer. This also counts this ceaseless staring, gaping and admiring Hua Cheng is gluttonously partaking in, committing the shape of His Highness to memory, eyes following again and again the impressive lines of such an excellent martial body, the quiet power in his limbs, the discipline in his straight back—the blossoming of bitten bruises along his partially concealed collar bone.
There is no word, no idiom, no song, nor poem that could ever capture the sheer peerless beauty His Highness possesses. That someone is equally so captivating both in motion and stillness is an artist’s dream, and Hua Cheng has studied His Highness in sleep, in mirth, in misery, in agony and, indeed, in pleasure. Nothing nor no one else evokes such strong reactions, such overwhelming love, joy, sadness, grief and, indeed, desire as His Highness does for him. For the longest time, Hua Cheng had felt as though he would be the only one to ever love so deeply, so wholly, so completely, that none other but him would ever be arrested by such boundless affection and respect and reverence like he has been his entire life and death. Yet, as ever, His Highness surprises him and meets him, heartily, happily, readily, in equal emotion towards Hua Cheng himself.
It’s baffling. A century and six months, and it still, most days, feels too good to be true.
Hua Cheng bled for this. Hua Cheng died for this. Hua Cheng kept going and fighting and trying for this. And he would do so again, all from the start, as many times as necessary should he ever need to prove his salt of deserving such good fortune. But said good fortune persists; this is it, forever. All theirs. Not even the end of time itself could sever their red thread.
Hua Cheng sighs almost silently, all too taken with his affection, and after perhaps an overarching shichen and a bit, finally relaxes his watchful pose and sprawls himself across the divan, watching still. His Highness, much too absorbed in his work, doesn’t notice. Hua Cheng, childishly, slides off the divan, meeting the soft rug beneath it with a quiet thud. Still, His Highness does not react. Hua Cheng nearly half-drags, half-crawls his way over in a comedically pathetic manner, gracelessly depositing his head into His Highness’s comfortable lap, the rest of his body collapsing as much like a puppet with snipped strings.
His Highness laughs, concentration interrupted, and Hua Cheng smiles into his warm thigh, his arms looping round to squeeze His Highness’s middle. “Is my San Lang bored? I’m sorry, I got so drawn into what I was reading.”
“Your San Lang has been neglected,” Hua Cheng bemoans playfully, “but not bored. How could I be, watching gege so perfectly at peace?”
His Highness’s hands leave the scroll he was holding in favour of petting and stroking Hua Cheng’s hair, sweetly mollifying. “Although I can’t see what the excitement could possibly be about, I’m sorry to hear San Lang has felt neglected. Shall we go and do something else? I suppose I’ve been at it for a while.” When Hua Cheng peeks up at him, His Highness’s cheeks are petal-pink with a blush. Hua Cheng rewards such beauty with a kiss to the inner thigh, honestly innocent despite the placement.
“Gege can carry on. I just missed touching you. Don’t let this San Lang distract you.”
“And what if I want to be distracted? Maybe I was bored?” His Highness says, lips curling into a playful smile.
“You weren’t,” Hua Cheng says confidently. “Gege was actually very interested in what he was reading. Am I wrong?” He knows he’s not.
His Highness’s smile softens into something bashful. “You know you’re not.”
Hua Cheng grins.
They gaze upon each other for a little while, His Highness carrying on with playing with Hua Cheng’s hair, and Hua Cheng mindlessly nuzzling into his warmth like a fat cat that’s just been offered a banquet of cream. This close, he can feel His Highness’s body take its every breath. It’s soothing, better than any lullaby, and likely to put him to needless sleep.
Much preferring to stay awake and continue looking upon His Highness, he asks, “Does gege want to tell me what he read in all those scrolls?”
His Highness hums thoughtfully. “No, maybe later. Right now, I just want to lie down with my San Lang.” So he does, resting with his back on the rug and tugging Hua Cheng up with him so that he may rest his head over the steady beat of his heart.
Hua Cheng makes a content little sound in the back of his throat, deeply pleased, and responds with a languid embrace, keeping His Highness as close as possible.
Skating a lightfingered hand up and down Hua Cheng’s back rhythmically, His Highness murmurs, “San Lang can sleep. He’s been keeping watch so diligently.”
He doesn’t need permission to do so, they both know, yet His Highness’s words make his eyelid heavy. “Gege should wake me when he gets bored,” he concedes and allows his eye to slip fully shut.
His Highness’s smile is evident in his voice. “How could I be bored, watching my San Lang so perfectly at peace?”
Ah, His Highness truly is clever and cunning indeed: it’s all a ploy to allow him the same privilege Hua Cheng had gorged himself on all afternoon long.
Nose grazing his ring of ashes and ear pressed up against his god’s heartbeat, Hua Cheng falls asleep like he always does, smiling and full of bliss.