Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I cannot express my distaste concerning the matter in a way that would justify it. The feelings inside burned hot like charcoal and cracked like ash. When someone is presented with a grand sum of money with no setbacks or interest, surely no man alive would take nothing but one measly pound? Yet this disrespectful, ungrateful imbecile proved me wrong.

High education was not for the faint of finance. My father, a politician, and my mother, a successful author both greatly value the art and practice of respectable education. Hence my attendance at Barne’s Scholarly Prestige, a boarding school with a wonderful curriculum and authentic staff. Money, for some, however, is an issue. Barne seeks to help aid in finance for those gifted young men and women who cannot afford it.

Yet, there I sat, in our school’s very own brilliant tri-story library with arching windows and Greco-Roman pillars when a lottery boy entered. You see, in a group of academic and socially Devine, it’s easy to spot the mortal types.

The shock was not at his presence, but at the fact that he approached me. The other students turned at the sound of the heavy doors swinging open, as the cold-eyed boy glanced around the room nervously, looking for someone to consult. And of course, his eyes fell on me. I sat unnoticeably in my opinion. I was seated on one of the stairs, my back against a grand pillar, knees to my chest, and a book resting open on top of my legs. My head was down, but his footsteps became ever louder. I resisted the urge to look up and prayed he would not disturb the peace I wished to maintain.

“Excuse me-“ his voice was far too loud. He whispered, yes, but the sound cut through the silence like a stab to the chest. I looked up. He smiled.

His hair was a soft icy blue, his skin winter pale. And his eyes, a crystal color. He made me want to shiver as if his stance was equivalent to an open window on a frosty winter evening. And yet, his smile was warm and inviting, nervous though. I unintentionally observed his hand clenching and unclenching at his side. A common anxiety relief I have practiced myself in unfavorable social situations. Like when I met my “soon to be finacée”, to give an example.

“May I help you?” His smile fell a bit as he nodded, thankful to have an assistant to whatever unfortunate situation he was in.
“I was curious. Could you help me find a book?”
Now this, piqued my interest. Though I was no librarian, I would undoubtedly agree to help him if I could understand his taste in literature. That way, I can decipher briefly what our relationship would be. From acquaintances to enemies though and through.

“You are aware that I am a student, right?” The boy nodded again and gave his second shy smile.
“Yes, but you seem both knowledgeable and well-read. Not to mention, you seem familiar with this library as well.” Despite his dumb curiosity, he seemed to read me well.

“Do you have a name, lottery stranger?” He seemed taken aback by my verbiage, but quickly gasped when he noticed his mistake.
“I am so sorry! I never introduced myself. Please call me Chongyun. Youngest of my family.” Chongyun held out his hand. I received it, in the name of chivalry of course.
“Xingqiu. Now about the book?” His face lit up.
“Right! I am looking for an older piece on occult studies.”

Yes. You heard me. Occult studies. You see his idiocy do you not? But, I attempted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Ah, you mean ghost stories? I know a wonderful collection of Scottish tales. I could locate some works for you.”

“No- you-“ his voice sounded nervous. I cannot blame him. Such a distasteful request. He wouldn’t dare repeat himself. I cannot imagine the embarrassment, the shame.

“You misunderstand me. I mean studies on alchemy, astrology, and magic. Like-“ a pause, “-old journals from an Catholic exorcist! Or maybe even a historical guide to spirits!” Wrong answer, Chongyun. I bit back the urge to slander him then and there.

In a library full of every piece of literature printed, he sought after the one disgraceful pound.

“I am afraid I cannot help you with that.” I turned back to my book. He stood over me, awkwardly.

“Could you ah-“ I could tell he did not wish to interrupt my reading. How respectful. I rolled my eyes subtly then looked up again. He avoided eye contact. What a strange lottery boy. “Could you point me in the direction of someone who might be able to help?” I suppose this was my calling in this circumstance. I must break the news to him. His desired literature is written by buffoons who prey on the innocent-minded. Instead, I said,

“I do not think we have flagrant fiction on our shelves.” Chongyun shifted his weight. A silent reply. He seemed... disheartened? Why was he so hard to read?

“Oh- I understand” he smiled charmingly. “You don’t believe in pseudoscience, do you Xingqiu?” No no, absolutely not. I believe and do not believe in all sorts of things. But I was not going to have such a stupid conversation with the lottery boy.
He sat down beside me on the stairs. This is a library! Go read!

“I believe there are things in the world that we are connected to but cannot fully understand. Did you know pseudo means spurious? The science you speak of is a scam. They are nothing but lies to scare a child.” I emphasized the word child and gave him a prolonged stare. Hopefully, that clarified my intentions with him. Chongyun laughed, and I felt embarrassed. There is surely nothing more humiliating than when an insult has the opposite effect of insulting. His laugh was upsetting, yet charming.

“I am not scared by them. I only hope to learn. My father studies these things.” I hate him. “My whole family practices it!” I truly, utterly despise him. “It’s an honorable craft, you know.” He intrigued me.

“You are a fool, Chongyun.” I was much too blunt. He did not laugh this time but nodded.

“I know.” I gave him a curious glance. “My family is obsessed with the practice. It works, you know. I’ve seen some scary stuff.” ‘Stuff.’ “I want to be an artist.” I felt every rude comment against him simmer in my chest. Replaced with respect and pity.

“When I was younger, I gave all things spiritual and magical all my attention. I was going to be part of a great study.” I was tempted to close my book. “When I reached upper school, the concept swayed me. My father signed me up for a contemporary art class.” His eyes never met mine when he spoke. He seemed disinterested in me, but I could not believe that was the case.

“I- struggle with emotions and such. My parents told me it made me an unstable scientist. Apparently they thought the class to be some sort of therapy. But my art professor. He said my emotional imbalance made me a genius.” I observed his tone and body language. The way his hand remained rhythmically clenching told me he was uncomfortable, but I could not decipher why. He seemed, to put it lightly, disengaged when talking.

“My art teacher said I could touch the fourth dimension. I could experience senses differently, he said.”

He cautiously looked up at me, his smile was sad. “I hope you don’t dislike my studies too much, Xingqiu. If it was up to me, I would study with a paper and paint.”

“Why must you be an exorcist?” I didn't mean to engage in the conversation more, but he had my attention.

“It pays more than arts and crafts.” The sentence pained me. If I desired to be an artist, I would receive supplies, a studio, and a wonderful list of buyers. His blue eyes were observant of my pity and he sighed. “Don’t look at me so sad. It feels condescending.”

Of course, it did. We were not even friends. Why show him sympathy unless I viewed him as the muck on my shoe. “No, please. I am not trying to be condescending, Chongyun.” A thought itched in the back of my mind, and before I had time to silence it, “I could be your patron!” He frowned, the air felt cold. I misspoke.

“You say you’re not being condescending-” A rushed apology interrupted him.

“You are right. I’m terribly sorry that was the wrong thing to say, wasn’t it? You mustn’t misunderstand me. I do not see you as a charity, I see you as a man with aspirations. Your circumstance is against your favor. I just want to ease the weight.” He wasn’t meeting my eyes anymore. I looked down in shame. It was then that I observed my book, closed and at my side. The page was not even marked. The shock came down in a wave and somehow (If you ask me in person I would deny this) I smiled. A conversation, for the first time in years, was more important than a book.

“Chongyun. Can I help you find that book now?”

Chapter Text

“Xingqiu!” I blinked at the sound of my name, turning my eyes up from the pages and to the boy who was embarrassingly running down the hall. There was no point denying our connection now. The second son of the great politician Li Qiang, Xingqiu, was caught socializing with a lottery kid at Barne. What a scandal. The thought made me smirk.

“What is this?” Chongyun had caught up to me in the hall, his voice strained from being slightly out of breath.
“I believe, dear Chongyun, you are holding a book.”

“Well that is obvious.” I looked up with a curious smile.“Now please tell me why you gave me this? I wanted a book on occult studies, you knew that!”
“Did you really?”
“Yes I-“

“Chongyun, be serious with me momentarily. Did you really?” He slowed his walking slightly, I joined to match his pace.

“I don’t want to answer.” His voice was awfully quiet now, I watched his hand clench and cringed internally. I did not mean to make the boy uncomfortable.

“Did you read what I picked out for you?” The lottery boy sighed and brought the book back to his eyes.
“No.”
“I will see if I can find you a Occult stories book.” I proposed.
“Occult studies-“
“Yes, whatever. But please, make this a contract. I get the book you desire if you read at least a chapter of that one.” I motioned to the book in his hand. He opened the cover.

“Frankenstein? Really?” He gave a disgruntled sigh at the title.
“Ah, so he is educated!”
“Everyone knows Mary Shelly.”
“Have you read it?” His light blue eyes studied me with caution, before responding.
“No.”
“I thought so. It’s the closest you’ll get to pseudo-science.”
“Okay fine. I’ll read the dumb book.” We shook on it. His hand was cold.

“He just wanted his creator-“ I subconsciously smiled at the approaching voice. I think he noticed. Because when I met his eyes, he was smiling too. He sat in front of me. Yet he never asked. How rude. Chongyun unknowingly demanded my attention. I noticed how he paused his sentence, waited for me to shut my book, then continued. “What a- bad life.” I bit back a laugh. He had quite a lack of vocabulary. And his lack of confidence in his verbiage made it all the more entertaining to listen to him. It was embarrassing but endearing. His blue crystal eyes sparkled with excitement for a moment.

“Laugh. I can tell you want to.”
“Laughing at people is rude, Chongyun.”
“I don’t mind.” He stared with eagerness. I wouldn't dare satisfy him though.
“Tell me about Frankenstien.”

The boy gave a dejected sigh and accepted his defeat. With gentle frosty fingers, Chongyun brushed his hair out of his eyes. His voice was soft and genuine as he spoke. I admired the way he had made eye contact. It was not easy for him and he shuttered his glance down every now and then, but I was patient. The conversation led quite nicely. We spoke on the nature of God, man and science. We discussed creation, and artistry.

“I think you’d make a wonderful artist,” I said finally after his voice died down and awkwardness became apparent. He looked up. And oh, the glorious victory that I beheld as I saw his eyes widen and his face flush with warmth. He shot his eyes towards the floor, the color and shock swirling down with it.

“Mm…” the poor boy. I didn't mean to tease him, really. At the time, I was being genuine. “Thank you.” He muttered. His voice was so soft. I am sure that, if it were tactile, it would bounce to the touch like cotton.
“But-“ the softness faded. “You haven’t even seen my art, Xingqiu.”

“So draw me something, lottery boy.” He shook his head.
“I need a great deal of inspiration.” I caught myself smiling at this, and before I could think through the consequence of my actions:
“Then draw me” a pause. He stared. I panicked. “-something.” He laughed. I exhaled.
“Okay, Xingqiu.”

The first time I caught the icy boy was in the library. I went there to return a book and potentially pick out another, assuming I could find a novel that suited me. As I browsed the shelves for something both new and of interest, I heard a clatter coming behind me. My heart’s palpitations stuttered. The sound was a horror to my ears. Books, the beautiful bindings of word and soul had hit the ground. I shuddered at the idea of some of them slamming against the floor with their text open, or, god forbid, a page bent! I spun around and sure enough, books had fallen off the shelf behind me. My eyes dashed upward to locate the culprit. A quite stunned Chongyun was visible in between the books still remaining intact on the shelf. His eyes flashed between the books on the ground, and myself. His ears were tinted red with embarrassment and I swallowed a laugh.

“This is a library,” I whispered, “Please try and stalk me more quietly.” He was quick to utter nonsense in an attempt to defend himself.

The second time I caught the icy boy, I pretended not to notice. I was reading in the courtyard, and I felt persistent eyes on me. It was an alarming feeling, cold and threatening. Isn’t it interesting how our bodies can observe something when our eyes cannot? Did I see the lottery boy? No. But I was confident of his presence. So, at some point, out of pure annoyance and curiosity, I glanced to my left. I am grateful I did, else I would have missed the sight that awaited me. Chongyun sat with his back against a tree, knees raised and necktie undone. His collar was unbuttoned, perhaps he was hot, and a sketchbook lay open in his lap. Long lashes and a downward gaze prevented me from seeing his blue eyes. I wished dearly that he would look at me, but I knew the risk of him making eye contact. Surely, he would stop his sketching and move elsewhere. So, reluctantly, I resumed my reading and felt eyes on me once again.

The third time I caught the icy boy was my favorite. In the dining hall, instead of joining me at my table, he sat at the one behind me and to the right. This annoyed me. I liked catching him watching me, and I liked knowing his intent. But surely he could draw at another time. I enjoyed his presence in the free period. I enjoyed our conversations and being able to catch the tone in his crystal eyes. With more aggression than I’d like to admit, I stood. And with much intent, I moved only when his attention was absorbed in his sketchbook. I calmly walked around the table to the right and behind the other. As I approached the lottery boy from behind, I saw him sever his attention from the sketchbook and resume the study of his reference. When he noticed that I, his reference, was no longer at the table, his brows furrowed and he began scanning the hall. I stood over him but refrained from looking at his art. I have some sense of decency, you know.

“Yun-” I greeted calmly. Chongyun’s reaction, however, did not mesh well with mine. With a gasp, the icy boy shut his book, spun around, and pressed his hand firmly against the other horizontally. I could have sworn he yelled some forbidden hex you might read in a book on witchcraft as his eyes met mine with fear. When the stun wore off, I burst into laughter.
“Chongyun-” His face was bright red, but my laughter would not cease. “Did you just try to exercise me?” His breathing became heavy with embarrassment, and he lowered his hands. He opened his mouth to explain himself, but words failed him, as expected.

After a while, my laughter finally died down. Chongyun had been staring at the ground and clenching both hands rhythmically. Yet, somehow, he smiled.

“What do you look so happy about?”
“I got you to laugh, Xingqiu.”

Chapter Text

I do not often feel dread. I find most aspects of life to be enjoyable and promising. Even if it is discomforting in the moment, I hold the belief that all things occur for the good of something else; whether it be personal growth, or for the happiness of a companion. Alas, I occasionally find myself in a less positive mindset in which dread takes hold of my expectations. In these moments I remind myself I am as human as any other.

I felt a sense of joy when I first received a letter from my mother. I had falsely hoped it would be in response to a book of poetry I had written prior and was disappointed when that was not the case. It instead concerned the upcoming holidays and an invitation that awaited my family during that time. Apparently, my “soon to be fiancé would be visiting our estate over the holidays. Do not misinterpret me. Ms. Xiangling is not, by any means, betrothed to me. Rather, both of our family’s estates were originally located on the same lake in Lowerton England. Her father, however, seeked business opportunities in America, a country growing evermore by the day. So he sold his estate and moved to Florida. It seems his endeavors have been rather profitable. But I digress. Ms. Xiangling remained in England to attend a schooling in favor of her mother.

“Poor girl. Her father is all the way in America. You best marry her when she’s of age. Else she might not be able to care for herself.” That’s what my mother had said.

So there I sat, rather improperly with my head against the table. I heard footsteps approaching and felt the weight shift from someone sitting beside me. The air was cooler. I didn’t bother correcting my stance. I knew he would not care.

“Are you alright?” His voice calmed me.
“I am not.” My reply was dry and straightforward.
“Why might that be?” Somehow, Chongyun made me want to confide in him. The way he asked was genuine. And something in my chest stirred me to speak.

“I am returning home for the holidays.” I sat up as I spoke, but kept my eyes on the table.
“Most students are. Is there a reason why that is bothering you?” I nodded. I could feel his eyes on me now. Cool as winter’s night and awfully curious. He did not ask me what the reason was, rather he waited patiently in case I spoke again. I did so after a moment.
“My family is so focused on my future sometimes. It is awfully discouraging.” He opened his mouth, closed it to process what I had said more thoroughly, and spoke again.
“Could you clarify with an example of sorts? I just want to better understand what you mean.” I looked at him then. His stare was so, so warm. I forgot to speak for a moment. He made a face as if silently asking if I heard him. I realized my error and finally spoke up, turning away again.

“Yes. Sorry. You see friends of our family are visiting over the holidays. And I’m expected to marry their niece as soon as she becomes of age.” I did not mean to continue speaking, but his kind look of affirmation led me on.
“It is as if they forget I am only sixteen.” My voice was cross with irritation. “Xingqiu- when will you publish a novel? Xingqiu- do you plan on joining parliament? Xingqiu- when will you marry? Xingqiu- will you ever achieve something?” My voice was raised and echoed in the mostly empty hall. I stuttered out a sigh, attempting to balance my heavy breathing. I remembered I was not alone and gave a frightened and shameful look towards the icy boy beside me.
“I am- I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to get heated.”

Chongyun gave me a soft and sad look. I cringed. I did not want pity. He spoke in only a whisper.
“Chongyun- are you studying?” The sadness in his voice suffocated my lungs. I felt my heart crack as he continued. “Chonyun- when will you give up that useless habit of yours? Chongyun- when will you get better? Chongyun- why are you so selfish?”
I wanted him to stop. His words tore at me in a way I could not understand. It stung like a slap across the face. My chest boiled with anger towards each question. I wanted him to stop. I wanted him to smile. The urge to hold his face in my hands and tell him it was a lie pressed inside of me. I would not do something so improper.
“Chongyun- when will you realize you’ll never be good enough?”

His sentence rang in my ear, suffocating all other senses. Anger burned deep in my stomach. Contempt blossomed in my chest. Whoever made the icy boy feel this way, was no worse than the destruction of all things perfect, all things good.

The lottery boy refused to meet my eyes. He was staring at his hands as they started to clench in discomfort. Before I could rethink I placed my hands on top of his own. His eyes flashed up to meet mine with surprise.

“We will both have to prove them wrong I suppose.” Chongyun nodded, his eyes shining with hope. I would always make him hopeful. I decided then, keeping the lottery boy happy was all I really aspired to do in my future. And when the decision came upon me, the stress of my future faded. My purpose had been found and I cared for nothing more.

The next few days were awfully miserable. Ms. Xiangling, however, had made it quite bearable. She was a charming young lady, you see. Kind, handsome, and humorous. She had an enjoyable presence. Being around her was not tiresome, nor difficult. I did admire her for that. Our conversations were enlightening. And I found the hours we spent out by the frozen lake to be peaceful and genuine. At some point she had asked me:
“Xingqiu, are you attracted to me?” I felt my stomach flip with discomfort at the question and I laughed nervously.
“Whatever do you mean, my liege?” She returned my comment with an admiral smile and clarified by saying,
“Our relatives want us married.” I nodded.
“Yes, I am aware.” My reply was stained. I was cautious. This was a conversation during which a young man could very well present himself as intolerant or rude.
“Would you want to marry me?” I thought for a moment. Marriage was a concept I made a point to avoid. Thinking about anything pertaining to my future often overwhelmed me. Marriage with Xianling…

“You are a wonderful young woman,” I said finally, gently taking her hand into my own. “You are gentle and well-read. If I am the man who stays by your side, loves you, and cherishes you. I would accept it as an honor.” I saw her cheeks tint softly. It was quite admirable.
“But,” I paused briefly, she waited. “I am not in love with you.” Xiangling nodded.
“I know that much, dear Xingqiu.” I gave her a look of curiosity, of confusion, so she continued.
“You strike me as a man who deeply wants to love and understand everyone, but has never been in love, nor been understood.” Her words sank somewhere deep into my chest. My mind dwelled on every syllable and my heart ached at the sincerity of it all. Ms. Xiangling was nothing short of brilliant. Her ability to listen and to know left me in awe. I am convinced now, reflecting on the matter, that I never knew myself before I knew Ms. Xiangling.

She let out a kind and flattering laugh at my stunned expression. “Was I close?” I shook my head in disbelief and grinned…
“On the dollar, my liege.”
“Maybe, now you can say you have been understood. I think I know you quite well.” She did. No one else had, I was sure of it. Yet at that moment, I thought of Chongyun.

It was in the nighttime when I first realized; when the company had died down and I was left alone in my room. It was quite light out as the moon and the snow reflected light through my open windows. I sat awake in my nightwear. I had been reading, but the once open book was now closed, putting to rest it’s story and soul until I might revisit it again. I found myself staring out the window, watching silently as snow began to fall. My legs rested off the side of the bed and I observed the way the wind pushed against the drifting snowflakes. But the sky was persistent and the snow only became heavier. I thought of Chongyun again, but this time, a pang in my chest followed. I layed back down in my bed, the ceiling consuming my attention until my eyes grew weary of it. Wind cried out in war against the oncoming snow as I rolled onto my side. I missed Chongyun. I don’t ever recall missing someone’s company before. Surely this meant, for once, my life had some novelty. It felt refreshing.

“I will see you on the night of the New Year.” Ms. Xiangling had said before she departed.
“What?” She grinned at my impolite tone. I shook off my surprise and spoke again. “I am afraid I will be at school then.” The girl nodded charmingly. She never failed in her perfection.
“Yes. The Barne Girls Institute will be arriving for a New Year's Ball.” I had not heard. Did Chongyun know?
“Save me a dance?” Her amber eyes glinted with kindness. I smiled.
“Of course.” I kissed her hand and watched her step into the carriage. Sorrow filled my chest as I watched her leave. Perhaps, I would miss her too.

Chapter Text

“Xingqiu!” That voice. His voice. I do not think I have ever smiled wider. My head spun to meet Chongyun, soft hair and cold eyes in all as he made his way towards me. Both hands rested behind his back as he walked. I watched him, the boy I had missed so dearly. I had stared at the snow and remembered his eyes.

“Chongyun.” I greeted when we at last were face to face. I tucked a strand of hair away from my face and calmed myself of all visible excitement, not desiring to appear too eager at our reuniting. He, on the other hand, made no attempt. His cheeks were flushed with joy and he rocked on his heels, smiling hopelessly.
“Merry Christmas.” The holiday had passed but the happiness in his tone made me smile subconsciously. He was fidgeting behind his back, the position awkward and secretive. My curiosity prompted me to speak.

“Whatever are you hiding?” I inquired with a hopeful tone.
“I- have something for you,” was his nervous reply. Cold eyes fluttered to the ground and I sensed his hesitation. But I was patient.
“May I see?” I was sure to ask gently, as to not embarrass him. The boy opened his mouth, decided against speaking, and shut it with a shy nod. He was cautious as he pulled a small canvas out from behind him.

I took the piece from Chongyun’s hands. They were trembling ever so slightly. He was quick to ramble. Quick to utter any and all unspecific excuses for any reason the painting might not satisfy me. “I am sorry it has no frame. I had no way to get one. Thankfully, the studio had paints and canvases but I am not too experienced with expensive mediums.”

In all honesty, I had hardly been listening. I had hardly been able to, far too enticed by the illustration before me. The color was minuscule and watered down, except for in the eyes, my eyes. It was a painting of me. Of my careful stance and tender hands clasping a book. The book was open. It covered my mouth and nose. Just my eyes. My eyes. Bright and staring forward. There was a flower in my hair and I, without meaning to, reached up to brush through my hair behind my ear where the flower would be resting. There were no soft petals against my fingers, so my hand traced back to graze the paint against the page. My breathing slowed as I stared. I heard Chongyun’s voice die off somewhere distant, so I looked up to see him staring. He was attempting to unravel my expression, hands clenching. His icy eyes shook with deep observation. And he spoke in a whisper,

“Is it okay?”
“It’s beautiful.” The softness in my tone surprised me. “You are very talented.” I watched his face redden only slightly. He was never good with complements, I would remember that.
“Thank you.” He muttered in that soft cotton voice he used only when sincere or embarrassed.
“I do have one complaint.” I commented after a moment of silence. He stood straight instantly.
“Yes, criticism would be very helpful.”
“My eyes are not that bright surely?” Chongyun moved beside me and looked at the piece, then into my eyes. I had never seen him make such starck eye contact. I did not mind it.

He looked back at the painting and sighed. “When I look people in the eyes, my other senses fail me. I cannot hear myself talk or feel my mouth move. I can only see their eyes. I suppose it is an over exaggeration. But when I look into your eyes they are the only thing visible to me. It’s like-” he looked up into my eyes again. I felt caught and nervous. My stomach churned as I tried not to pull away. “Their charm outshines everything else.” Charm? My face heated in embarrassment and I looked down, escaping the sharpness of his cold crystal blue eyes. He apologized for staring. I told him it was quite alright.

Chapter Text

The New Years Ball came up quickly and unexpectedly, but favorably so. I was excited to see Ms. Xiangling once more. I was always fond of an evening dance as well. The inviting lighting, cheerful music and ad lib of conversation create a delightful setting that I was eager to partake in. Chongyun, however, seemed anxious about the event. Whenever I brought it up his shoulders tensed and his eyes fell to the floor. I never asked why he felt this way, but I refrained from bringing it up for his sake.

It was the night before the dance would occur when I opened my eyes to Chongyun crouched beside my bed. I groaned and rolled to the side.

“You look like a needy child.” I mocked in a whisper. He huffed behind me.
“No need to be rude,” his whisper was far too loud, making me cringe. I recalled when we first spoke. The boy always had a way of cutting through peaceful silence. No aspect of social awareness exists in his mind. I decided. The other boys lie fast asleep in their beds. I envied them. Chongyun seemed to question if I was asleep again and breathed out my name, reminding me of his awkward presence beside my bed. With a groan, I sat up and faced him.

“I need your help.” He muttered. The low moon-lit lighting made him look… different. His cold gaze was softer. I was reminded again of the heavy snow outside my window on Christmas night. He made eye contact with me, and I shivered. I could have sworn I caught a glimpse of an Antarctic night sky trapped in his eyes.

“Can it wait? We are supposed to be asleep.” I spoke finally, clearing my thoughts. The lottery boy shook his head.
“Now would be best.”
“What is it?” Chongyun flinched at the harshness of my tone. I felt guilty and attempted to soften my expression, waiting for him to continue.
“I- um” His voice waved. I grew cold with concern. Chongyun was often nervous, so I was not surprised by his cautious demeanor. Yet, it had been a long time since he had presented himself this way when we were talking. I had hoped he had finally reached a level of comfortability in our conversations. The fear of being wrong bloomed in my chest.

“Chongyun?” My voice was laced with obvious worry.
“Do not laugh.” He replied immediately, much to my surprise.
“Okay.” His eyes were distant and cautious and his hands clenched while his feet rocked back and forth. The creaking of the floor made me anxious and I scanned the room to make sure all the boys were still sleeping.
“I do not know how to dance.” Chongyun said finally. It was a breathy confession. His voice had gone so quiet I nearly asked him to repeat himself. But then, once I finally collected the words in my mind and fully understood their meaning, I laughed. It was against my better judgment and my earlier declaration, but I failed to properly choke back my surprise at the humorous confession. I quickly brought the back of my hand against my lips to suppress my snickering.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh!” He whisper-shouted, his face paleing with terror as I fought to regain my composure.
“You seemed so scared I was worried something serious was going on!” I declared in self defense. The icy boy seemed hot and irked, a new expression from him, which I found entertaining.
“This is serious! We have a dance tomorrow! I have never danced before and I’m expected to make a good impression!” He complained werily. My stifled laughter grew.
“Good impression and Chongyun do not go together,” I teased.
“Xingqiu!”
“Sorry, sorry. Seeing you mad is entertaining.” The redness in Chongyun’s face only worsened and I only smiled more. “How am I supposed to help you?” He seemed caught by the question. I bit back the urge to groan. Of course, he never thought about how he should go about learning. Suddenly, his eyes lit up, sparking with an idea.

“Would it- ah,” Chongyun paused, waiting for me to give him my attention. “Can I take you somewhere?” He inquired. I blinked in confusion at his words and tilted my head, a silent question being asked, now? The lottery boy combed through his loose and messy hair with a nod, interpreting my silence. “We could practice.” Practice? Dancing? In the middle of the night, Chongyun wanted to sneak out so that he might learn how to dance. And I have never grinned more at such a stupid idea.

We walked on our toes, dodging the cracks in the floor. I felt dazed in my excitement as Chongyun led me down the vast empty hallways. I walked slowly to stare out the tall windows, but the boy beside me was impatient. Cold hands grasped my wrist to pull me along. I gasped and he smiled at me. There was a blossom of warmth in my chest. The feeling was new and unfamiliar. But the novelty made me helplessly smile back.

I had no idea where we were going, but Chongyun seemed to know, and I trusted his sense of familiarity. I realized how beautiful the building was as we walked. The architecture was Roman inspired, tall cathedral like pillars held the ceiling above us. The night’s low lighting only added to its beauty. At that moment, I wondered if the lottery boy had taken this path alone before. Our friendship had only been short lived, after all.

Chongyun stopped walking. I was pulled out of my thoughts as the now warm touch left my wrist. He opened a door to a large and empty room. The wooden floors creaked upon our entry.

“What is this place?” I asked aloud. The boy with icy eyes turned to face me and shrugged.
“I found it by accident when looking for the studio. I assumed it was an unused bedroom.” I nodded at his explanation. He was most likely correct. Tall wooden beams lined the walls and the ceiling hung high above us. I stepped forward. The moonlight shined against flecks of dust in the air, it looked like snow fall. I shivered. Chongyun stepped up beside me and cleared his throat.

“May I have this dance?” He asked in a low voice as I turned to face him, hand extended. I snickered.
“Good start.” His ears were red and he pursed his lips at my laughter. “Just a small critique,” I continued. The fine line turned into a frown of disapproval as I stepped in front of the boy. “Don’t extend your hand yet. She might not accept. Bow, but only slightly. And there is no reason to change the tone of your voice unless you seek public embarrassment.” The red on his ears spread to his cheeks.
“You said a small critique. That was not a nor was it small.” I remained unbothered by his comment and shifted myself until I stood beside his left, facing forward.

“When she agrees, come up to her right and then offer your hand.” I glanced down at his limp arm. Chongyun blinked for a moment, then mouthed a silent “oh” and put his hand up. I tittered again then placed my hand gently against his own. His hand was soft. Before I could speak again, the idiotic boy shifted his fingers, and closed his hand around mine. I gasped and whacked his arm with my free hand. He pulled away with a start.

“Whatever was that for?” Chongyun whined, rubbing his arm.
“You do not grab her hand like that! That is perverted!” I watched as worry flooded his gaze. He looked down shamefully.
“I did not know that.” I am not sure when I became so sympathetic, but I remember my voice turning tender as I spoke again.
“It is quite alright. You are here to learn are you not?” His hands unclenched and he nodded. “Let’s try again.”

The second time went much smoother, however, there was a worry and reluctance that was much more obvious in his stance. I felt guilty for changing his previously confident composure. After he walked me towards the center of the room, we turned to face each other.

“Now lift your hand,” I instructed. He did so. I adjusted my positioning so that I was oblique from Chongyun, who watched my movements carefully. I put my opposite hand against his. Now with our arms vertical, he smiled.
“Your hand is so much smaller than mine.” My stomach churned at the comment and my eyes unconsciously flashed to observe. He was right. I frowned.
“You ought not to say something like that to her.” I noted.
“Who is her? I am saying it to you.” Was his defense.
“You really are quite stupid.” I said with a smile. He grinned in return.

Slowly, I taught the lottery boy the proper movements. His eyes were stuck on his feet the first few rounds of motion. I found it charming the way he muttered the movements aloud and tripped up quite frequently. Whenever he did so, he met my eyes for just a moment to sincerely apologize. I was never upset with him though, and he knew that. Thanks to the simplicity of the dance and Chongyun’s basic competence, he had accomplished perfection quite quickly.

Chapter Text

Thanks to the simplicity of the dance and Chongyun’s basic competence, he had accomplished perfection quite quickly.

“Now, the most important aspect of a dance.” This caught his attention and the dance slowed to a halt as he listened more closely. “Conversation.” I concluded. His eyes widened in horror. I could carry a conversation just fine, you see, though I preferred a book and silence. Chongyun on the other hand, dreaded anything social as if it was a fatal plague.

“Conversation.” He repeated hopelessly. “I cannot do that.” His remark was not in exasperation, rather, he spoke monotone and leveled, as if he was telling me a fact right out of a textbook.

“You are much better than you say. We talk all the time.” I noted. But he seemed to disagree.
“That is different. You are different.” I hardly knew if it was a compliment. The tone in his voice, however, was tender and encouraging. Curiosity and interest flooded my chest, so I pried further.
“How so?” He paused to think before concluding with,
“You are patient.” There were beats of a momentary silence, before a smile tugged against my mouth and I let out an exhale of hilarity.
“How about this, you ask me a question and I’ll tell you if you ought to use the same question at the ball or not.” After what appeared to be some sort consideration, he gave a quick affirmative nod.

“Should we- ah-” he held up his hand and shifted to the side rather awkwardly. The way his voice trailed off in shyness and he looked down slightly. The way the moonlight brightened his features and lit the dim room. The way hisー
“Xingqiu?”
“Yes? Um, yes. We should.” I was nervous. The dumb boy was contagious. I stood by the side and rested my hand against him, suddenly far too aware of how sweaty my hand was and how rough his callaces were. After a moment of embarrassing shuffling, we began to dance. He seemed much more comfortable now and our steps echoed a gentle percussion into the hollow room. There was a beat of silence as Chongyun focused on his footwork before he remembered our idea.

“Right um-“ his voice came out a little higher and a little more forced. I watched him with the softest gaze I could muster in an attempt to reassure him. He made eye contact. I was grateful for that. His eyes were a pleasantry. “Where are you from?”
“Lowerton, England.” I was quick to respond. He was quick to give an affirming smile for no reason at all. “What about you?”
“Broxter,” was his reply. I hadn't even considered that, but the more I pondered his location the more it made sense. Chongyun lived quite close to the school. He could walk home now if he pleased. Considering his family’s finances, I figured they could not afford the steam train.
“Use that question.”

A few inquiries followed. Most that were asked were quite proper and reasonable. It made me sort of discouraged. Chongyun was always so much better than he would ever present himself. I wished he could see how brilliant he was.
“How are you today?” Was his next question. The humane tone in his voice made my stomach churn. It felt far too genuine.
“That is not necessary to ask. You are trying to get to know her better.”
“Forget the girl for a moment then. How are you,” a breath, “Xingqiu?” It felt like fire.
“I-“ it was hot and burning and I felt my neck sweat against the heat. My stomach was aflame as if the utterance of my name alone was dropping a match inside of me. The feeling was new, this fluster of a flame. I found, since meeting Chongyun, I was quite fond of new things. I was quite fond of this.
“I am doing well.” I looked down. “Thank you.”

“What is your favorite color?”
“Light blue.” Surely it had been an hour of this. For an hour at least, Chongyun had asked me more and more stupid questions, and I answered every single one with a dumb smile on my face. We were seated now, knees crossed against the hardwood floor, our dance abandoned long ago. In the back of my head the worry was pressing: ‘what time is it?’
“What variation of light blue?” I neglected the thought when he pressed on.
“Like your eyes.” Satisfaction and pride flooded my chest as his ears visibly tinted and his eyes shuttered downwards. I gave a brief breathy laugh before humming contently and encouraging him to continue, “Next question.”

“How was the weekend with Ms. Xiangling? I never asked.” I felt partially guilty. I never really told him about the holiday. The second we reunited it was back to our usual routine. Meals side by side in the dining hall, reading and drawing in the library against the pillars on the stairway, random conversations in the courtyard.
“Not nearly as bad as I had feared. I did miss you a great deal though.” The words tumbled out accidentally. I spoke more when I was tired. No, it was worse than that. I spoke honestly when I was tired. Chongyun’s soft, slightly saddened smile, however, made me glad I had said it.
“I missed you too.” And then,

“Favorite poem?” I bit back a yawn.
“Oh please don’t make me choose.” Light hearted laughter escaped the boy’s lips.
“Fair enough.”
“Next question.”
“Are you tired?” I blinked. Before I could even ponder a good response, the yawn slipped out. I mentally slapped myself. No point in denying it now.

“Yeah.” Though I wished I wasn’t. I did not want to go to sleep. Not now. I wanted to stay with Chongyun. It was shamefully enjoyable, him asking me dumb questions as I lean back against my hands on the cold hardwood. After a moment, he stood and I swallowed the sadness that came with the movement.
“Well then,” he looked excited, energetic. Far too energetic. Frighteningly energetic and then a loud declaration: “Race you back!” The childish challenge left his lips in a rush. He turned towards the door, and he ran. I had never hoped onto my feet more quickly, nor dashed out of a room so improperly.

I chased him, our stifled laughter and gasps for air filled the halls as we ran. The warmth in my chest returned. The novelty I had yet to understand. I could not wrap my head around it. I could not understand the feeling.

Was this a fulfillment of the frustrating emptiness I was so familiar with? Is this the feeling I scrambled through books chasing after? The newness, the splashing of colors in a black and white painting. I saw Chonyun’s illustration in my mind. The way the shallow colors were contoured by golden hues and amber undertones. I craved that feeling. The tint in a life so bland. I had never had a friend. I had never felt the adrenaline of doing something I ought not to do. I stood straight in my classes and listened to all that was factual. My mind was filled with intentionality and that which I was told to know. I always dressed appropriately and I only wrote what I was told to.

But now, chasing Chongyun down an empty hallway of stone and marble, I wanted to write a novel. I wanted to write something never written, because the world would not dare touch those stark colors the way I would.

Chapter Text

“Society’s perspective on love.” His cold voice had softened over time. Each time he spoke, I enjoyed hearing how much his tone changed. It started shaky, hesitant. An anxious stance made him sound cold. Now, it was genuine, engaging, and so tender. The more we spoke, the more the cotton voice became a familiarity.
“That’s quite a broad topic, dear Chongyun.” Oh his expression, his widened eyes and flushed cheeks. “Might you specify?” He shook off the fluster that came with my wording and nodded.

“I mean, one issue is women. A woman cannot marry a man that she truly loves if he is unable to financially support her. I believe that is unfair.” Chongyun was a defender, I noted. He spoke strongly, but only when he believed strongly in that which he was saying. I pondered my phrasing before responding with:
“Is it not fair considering the woman herself cannot provide? The man has to, because she cannot work.”
“That’s another thing!” He was quick to protest, hands clenching in disapproval. I smiled, but only slightly. “Why are women not able to work? We are nearing the end of an industrial revolution. Work is no longer done by strength alone. There is machinery. Surely, a woman can handle that job?” I huffed out a sigh, a pleasant one. The hidden smile only spread. His charisma tugged on my lips and I could not stop the grin that depicted a feeling deep in my chest.

“What?” He seemed defensive. I hoped he did not think I was mocking him.
“Nothing, Chongyun. You are quite a revolutionist is all.” The boy gave a slow nod at my remark. I figured I ought to resume the conversation.
“How would you define love?” His china blue eyes glossed over, deep in thought, but only for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was careful, as if the words he used affected how I saw him. As if they could ever.

“When you love somebody,” he kept his eyes downwards, breathed, and continued, “your only desire is to see them happy and fulfilled, even at the expense of yourself.” My breath hitched. It was faint, unnoticeable. Had I not made that promise? Had I not pledged myself, only weeks ago? I decided then, keeping the lottery boy happy was all I really aspired to do in my future. I recalled my declaration with a pounding heart. He looked up at me, cocked his head so tenderly. “Is something the matter?”
“No,” I let out a breathy laugh, but I felt my hands trembling in my lap. “Your speaking just impressed me, it always does.” He did the motion again, widened his eyes and shifted only slightly, looking away. Deep down, I felt guilty. I knew compliments made him uncomfortable. But he looked so pretty when he denied them. That feeling of novelty returned, swimming in my chest and filling my stomach with a low hum. I stood abruptly. Chongyun jumped.

“I forgot my book!” That was true. “It is due time for it to be returned.” That was not. “I apologize for departing so abruptly. You can meet me at the library in a moment, yes?” He watched as I desperately attempted to compose myself before putting on a shaky smile and departing. I had not even let him say goodbye.

I took my dear time retrieving my book, which was neglected on the desk at the bedside as I sat still on my bed. Chongyun’s definition was truly inadequate. It discredits all the different kinds of love. There is maternal love, brotherly love, romantic love, and more. So many more. Yet at the same time, his definition can apply to all of them. Caring for someone, truly caring. A self sacrificial caring. The more I turned over the topic, the more I repeated his words, the less tense I became. As I took the book off the desk, I thought of Xiangling, and her conversation with me before her departure.

“You strike me as a man who deeply wants to love”

I do not know what I wanted. But I did know that if my desire to care for Chongyun, to wish upon his happiness, was considered a form of love, then I did love him. Not in a romantic sense of course, I knew well that homosexual romance was a fabrication as the desires are purely an immoraitly. But love regardless. And if that is the feeling of novelty he brought me, then I warmly welcomed it.

The hall began to crowd with an influx of people. The boys were all dressed quite nicely, awaiting the presence of the students of Barne Girls Institute to make their presence. My chest bloomed with impatience, awaiting to see Xiangling again. I felt there was more that I needed to tell her now. Whether or not I would, was a question to be addressed later. 

“I have seen spirits and demons at work,” I jumped at the voice behind me. “Yet my greatest fear is a Barne dance.” I laughed and turned to face him. Immediately, at the sight, I bit hard on my tongue. Chongyun’s uniform was often cheap and ill-fashionable, to put it lightly. I figured he had no ball attire, so I had let him dress in one of my many formal outfits, which I observed him in now. He gave a shy smile and shuffled back and forth slightly as I studied his demeanor. His hair was properly combed for once, his eyes more visible. The dress attire fit quite nicely. The vest suited his form. The pastel blue and white patterning matched his eyes quite splendidly. And the dress coat itself was snug, aesthetic, and appealing. But in God's name, the neckwear was completely off centered. Without speaking, I stepped closer to Chongyun, unaware of his hands clenching, fingernails digging. I quickly fumbled with the jabot, reaching around the back of his neck and altering its position slightly.

“This is the quietest I’ve ever seen you.” He only had to whisper, and I became aware of our unnecessary closeness, and stepped back just slightly. “Is it really that bad?” My answer was immediate, and offended.
“No. My clothes are never bad.” He huffed out a laugh. I positioned myself backwards, and admired my work, before dragging my eyes up to meet his with some unexplained sense of dread. He looked so nervous, his face flushed and embarrassed, his hands fidgeting endlessly. “You look arresting, Chongyun.” The comment only worsened the feverish state he appeared in. He did not take compliments well. I knew that.

“Thank you,” The boy’s crystal eyes were infatuated with the floor as he breathed his gratitude.
“No need to thank me. Honesty is a virtue.” I could see the faintest smile tug at his lips. I deemed that a victory. A moment later the girl's arrival was announced and we were rushed into the ballroom. Chongyun grabbed lightly at my coat’s tail, when I looked back his eyes were shut fast. I bit back a laugh as he was practically muttering prayers.
“Chongyun.” His eyes fluttered open and I offered him my arm. He took it with a great deal of hesitance. His arm was cool, a refreshment from the crowd's warmth. In the depths of my mind and stomach, I felt a wave of anxiety. It was quite improper, letting the boy latch on in this way. But my worry for him and desire to keep him comfortable overrode my reasonable caution.

The feeling of closeness faded quickly, however. As we entered the hall, his arm slipped from mine, and wide eyes studied the room. Lantern light filled the open area, there were drapes falling around tall windows and a large open balcony along the left. A reasonably sized stage encompassed the front of the room, where a small sinfonietta stood, instruments at the ready. I grinned at the sight. Nothing like an evening’s gathering to warm the spirit.

Chongyun, on the other hand, seemed weary already. He studied the line of women entering through the open doors. My gaze followed his. Young girls all dressed in simple gowns stood directly in our line of sight. They seemed awfully excited, chattering amongst themselves. The boys had been speaking too, I suppose I had toned most things out to observe the setting. How improper. I scanned down the line as well. My eyes stopped at the mid-right of them all. My stare was met with gentle brown eyes, glowing golden in the lantern light. Her dress, a faded maroon, perfectly framing her shoulders. Her short hair was down, it had been curled. And a lace hair piece clipped nicely at the back. With no hesitation, Xiangling smiled and gave a subtle wave.

“Is that Xiangling?” Chongyun whispered beside me. I repressed a shiver. He was standing so close, and had watched my engagement. I turned to face him, his stance shook with unrest. He was still nervous. I gave him a nod. He glanced back at her, then back to me.
“She is beautiful.” The words he spoke were true but I felt dissuaded by them.
“Yes.” I spoke in agreement. As our conversation faded, the conductor tapped his stand, once, twice, and a third time. The wave of people caught quick attention to the sound and hushed themselves. I felt Chongyun tense beside me. Music filled the hall, cheerful and inviting. All the boys stirred, straightening their stance and fixing their attire. One by one they crossed the hall. Xiangling stood so inviting. I had to ask quickly.

With quick motion I adjusted my coat and began walking. Cold fingers encased around my wrist.
“Wait-“ Chongyun’s face was paling severely, his breath shallow. Concern swept over me. “What do I do?” I gave him the best reassuring smile I could muster.
“Exactly what we practiced. Want to watch me?” He cautiously nodded and loosened his grip, allowing me to freely walk forward now.

I could feel gazes behind and in front of me. Chongyun’s eyes traced my every movement. I could sense the way he was shifting on his feet, clenching cold hands. Xiangling, who stood before me, conversing with a peer of hers, looked up slightly, watching my approach. She gave an unimpressed look. I smirked. When I met her, she fully broke the conversation with the young woman beside her and turned to face me.

“Ms. Xiangling.” My voice came out as a declaration.
“Yes, Xingqiu?” The girl beside her seemed confused by our relations, and Xiangling found it amusing. I bowed just slightly.
“May you dance this song with me?“ The proposal hung thick in the air, and though I recalled our promise, fear still accompanied my words.
“Why yes of course.” I stood straight and smiled. With newfound pride I walked to her right, and offered my hand. She took it. I gazed forward to see Chongyun. He looked reassured, more determined than before. I gave him a quick nod before returning my attention to Xiangling.

Chapter Text

“You know, when I said save me a dance, I did not mean the first one.” My neck grew hot with embarrassment. I sighed under her amused gaze. 
“Sorry.” Ms. Xiangling seemed still unsatisfied.
“I just did not take you to be so eager.” I rolled my eyes and shook my head at her teasing remark, smiling all the while.
“You know I enjoy assemblies of this sort. And- what if I had been rejected by another girl?” I faked a whine of sorrow. She smirked, and turned to face me as we stopped in the center of the hall.
“Your daddy’s expenses would ensure success with any girl you approach.” I widened my eyes in playful shock.
"So cruel!” Our hands met each other’s and we immediately clicked into rhythm. The music swirled around the hall. Couples accompanied us at our sides. And I stepped with her. 

Yet my attention was embarrassingly swayed. Each time we would turn, I would look again at the icy boy, observe his posture and stance, his conscious breathing and hand clenching. But my conscience led me otherwise. So I reluctantly turned my gaze back to her to avoid impoliteness. 

“Xiangling,” I began, the tone much more serious than before. “I never asked you what you thought of me. You asked if I was attracted to you.” She nodded shortly, and made an expression as if she was retrieving the memory of that afternoon by the cold lake.
“Are you asking me then, Xingqiu? If I am fond of you?” I nodded, and she inhaled, pondering her words.
“No.” I was a bit stunned. The response was so contrary to her moment of serious consideration just prior.
“You are quite forward.” She laughed. A tender sound. 

“I feel the same as you do. When given the options, I would love to marry you. You are kind, and considerate. You are not shy of being handsome either.” The compliment made my ears redden. “But our relationship feels more like that of a brother and sister. Don’t you think so?” I nodded. I did not feel romantically inclined when it came to Ms. Xiangling, but I cared for her dearly. Chongyun’s definition of love repeated vaguely in my mind. Chongyun . 

I turned back, finally, slipping a glance as the conversation slowed.  But Chongyun was not at the wall. I felt my heart seize. I was worried. Did he leave the room? Sneak away to the unused ballroom away from the crowd of dancing and conversing?  No. Chongyun was anxious. But he was not a coward. It was shameful to underestimate him. Accusing him of running away when he had displayed such determination before. Chongyun was strong and he had been ready. So, I made my attempt to find him within the hall, which proved difficult. Pairs on pairs obscured my vision. The twirling of gowns, bodies moving in sync to the strings that illuminated a happy sound.  

“Xingqiu?” I was far too obvious, looking everywhere except at the women I was meant to entertain. “Is everything alright?” I glanced at her momentarily — nodded in agreement— then idiotically resumed my search. The churn in my chest told me it was improper, but the worry in my chest would not calm. Not until I knew he was comfortable. Not until I knew he was happy. That’s all I would ever care for. “Are you looking for something?” There was concern in her voice, concern that made my stomach twist in guilt. 

“Yes,” I was unsure why I felt such need for honesty, but I confessed anyway, “my friend.” Xiangling’s dress twirled as she spun again. I gave up my search to watch her grace and dignity, only for a moment. When amber eyes met mine, she spoke again.

 “The cold looking one on your arm earlier?” My face burned at her words. On your arm. He had been clinging to my arm and Xiangling had seen. My stomach churned in unfamiliar discomfort. And I could not distinguish the feeling from the ones I was accustomed to: embarrassment, anxiety, or perhaps, though much less likely, pride. 
“Yes.“ My reply was accompanied with a swift nod. She smiled warmly.
“Behind us. To your left.” 

In a surge of expectation, I scanned the hall again, briefly, but encountered Chongyun easily. Right where she had addressed with his hand laid gently against that of another girl. He was smiling, and engaging in a conversation. I should have felt pride, I knew that, yet my stomach twisted and ached. He looked so effortless, so confident. So different from the quiet, flushed boy who danced with me in the early dark morning just hours prior. Was he more anxious with me? The thought panged my chest. But the longer I stared, the more the ache was replaced with adoration. He was doing well. I felt ashamed for underestimating him and I observed with happiness as he danced so comfortably. Dear Chongyun. He looked so prepossessing. And for a moment, I thought his icy eyes met mine. 

“What is his name?” Xiangling’s voice snapped my attention back to hers. I let out an embarrassing,
“Huh?” So she continued. “The boy. His name?” My confusion subsided and I composed myself for a more proper conversation. 
“Chongyun,” was my reply. She glanced behind me, at him, with a hum and a low smile. I fought to urge to follow her gaze. I had neglected her enough this evening. We detached hands and spun, the stings leading the careful steps. One step- two, step, spin.
“Would you introduce me?” I tripped. 

“To Chongyun?” One step, two.
“Yes.” Step back, step . The violins had dimmed, strings muffled as if the ballroom had been flooded with water. Step one- spin, step. I focused on my feet, on my movements, which became heavy and difficult. I was pressing against the downpouring flow. Water was pooling in my mind, pushing against us when we spun. The girl’s dresses slowed, heavy with water. Xiangling’s voice, however, was distinct, sharp, and clear when she said: “I’d like to dance with him.” Then, panic. In my lungs there was a sharp and abrupt realization. I was drowning. My breathing in shallow gulps, inhaling nothing but that which would kill me slowly. It was new. But this, I did not like. Xiangling gave me a look of mild concern. As she parted her lips to speak again, my consciousness broke the surface of the water, which flushed away. All that remained, a slight dripping from the ceiling. My lungs, however, burned. Still flooded with water and desperate for release. I recall what felt like coughing, choking out that which strangled me. 

“I- I really do not care for that. It is not as if I intend to marry him.” What? Oh- I had said something. The release of water came out in words, but I couldn’t recall what I had said. “You are behaving strangely, Xingqiu.” I know. My mind was a twist of confusion and discomfort. The violins that were once drowned out were far too loud now. The only recognizable feeling was disapproval. I decided I did not want Xiangling to dance with Chongyun. 

The thing I did next, I still live in regret of, so please, do not hold it against me. With a shaky voice, I dismissed myself from Xiangling, and left her alone in the ballroom, the song still far from over.

Chapter Text

“He is terribly poor.” Those are the disgusting words I had said to her in the hall. And they repeated in my mind as soon as I registered their existence. My behavior was inexcusable. Of that I was sure. I had liked doing this differently, improperly. I liked sneaking around at night with Chongyun, whispering ill things about our professor in the courtyard with his legs pressed against my own. But, walking out on Xiangling, mocking Chongyun’s financial stability. I was left feeling horrified with myself. I was left in self hatred. The balcony air was refreshingly cold and the sting against my face felt well deserved. It was snowing ever slightly, and the night sky was clouded and obscured.

“Xingqiu.” Uncomfortable warmth slithered around my neck. Xiangling’s voice was always hot, but this time, it sweltered, with what I could only assume was anger. I turned around slowly and shamefully and she spoke firm. “Never before have I been so terribly mistreated.” I couldn’t help but wince at her tone, keeping my eyes downcasted and breathing slowly.
“I am sorry.” A forgien voice left my lips, so quiet I was convinced she did not even hear me.
“I came to see if you were alright.” My heart stuttered, if I was…? Why? I looked up quickly, confusion laced in my stare. “It was so unlike you. And your face looked white as if with illness. I was worried for you.” My head tipped down in shame. Her kindness was so undeserved. With a sigh, I turned to face the snow coated sky, and spoke softly.

“I think there is something wrong with me.” I heard the soft steps beside me, and she rested her arms against the cold stone balcony. Her eyes were consumed with the clouds and her voice was gentle as ever.
“What do you mean?”
“Everything feels new.” It was not a bad thing, it was what I was craving, novelty. But, “It is scaring me.” There was that painful downfall. Xiangling hummed in response as if pretending to somehow understand my ridiculous circumstance, and for a moment, I believed she did.

“What does it feel like?” She asked so genuinely and I inhaled with wariness. How could I explain something like feelings? How could I put into words the color blue splashed on a white paper, or dancing in a flooded ballroom? Instead, I settled on saying,
“Different. Sometimes, it is a pleasant difference.” An analogy poured into my brain and I spoke it forth, knowing the girl beside me was well-read and my explanation might provide more clarity. “Like reaching a long awaited conclusion to a novel. But conclusions aren’t always resolutions and sometimes I am left terribly unsettled.” Xiangling’s eyes, now a dark swirling brown without the lamplight, met mine and she seemed pleased with my response.

“Sometimes that which is new is unsettling, but it is only because of unfamiliarity. I am sure, with time, your fears will subside. When did they start?” It was awfully rude of me, but I was thinking over my response as she spoke. I would explain that some of the newness felt more like poison, and I was worried there were negatives with the positives.

But her concluding question abruptly cut my thinking when it registered, making my head spin momentarily, before I attempted to grasp at a response. The answer was there, not in my subconscious, but at the front of my brain, on the tip of my tongue. Yet, for some reason, which I was too naive to understand then, speaking it felt terrifying. Xiangling’s gaze was warm though, and so inviting. And deep down I knew I needed to confide, because this conversation alone had brought me so much relief. So I stuttered out a breath and closed my eyes as to evade her judgment before saying in a low voice,

“When I met Chongyun.” A new feeling crashed over me like a wave and my legs shook where I stood. My heart was thumping with anxiety. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter and desperately waited for the wave to pass.
“Xingqiu…” and just like that, right before the possibility of relief, I was tackled by another wave, because her voice sounded so pitiful and I did not understand why and I did not understand the feeling that racked my body and I did not understand and I did not understand and I–

“Xingqiu.” A different voice, my favorite voice. My eyes flew open. I stood a bit straighter and turned to face our intruder, whose face was pale with worry and hands were clenching rhythmically. “I am sorry I didn’t mean to interrupt, I'll just–” He turned to leave, but Xiangling stopped him. I wished she hadn’t. Because my stomach knotted with dread and I felt almost nauseous at the idea of speaking with him.

“You’re not interrupting.” He was. “You must be Chongyun.” He looked mildly startled by the comment, but nodded as Xiangling continued, “Xingqiu and I were just speaking about you.” A wave crashed again, this one containing shame and anger. She had no right to share that, but I failed to come up with a valid reason as to why. Chongyun, however, carried a different reaction. His face darkened with a charming color and he shifted on his feet. I felt guilt with the pride that came at the sight.

“And you are Ms. Xiangling.” He made no eye contact as he spoke. God- he looked so uncomfortable. I hated seeing him so. A physical pain bloomed within my chest and once again I had the urge to take his hands into mine to prevent his nails from digging against his palms. “Your reputation precedes you,” Chongyun spoke again, a gentle smile and nervous blue eyes dashing up to meet Xiangling. “I mean that in the positive,” he extended a hand, Xiangling received it greatly. Then, she looked back at me, with this heavy gentle gaze. It was sincere and my breath hitched noticeably at how warm it felt. She was fighting to understand me. Foolishly fighting to seek truth in a knot of distorted chaos. She could strive all she wanted, but I would never bring clarity. Because I had none to begin with.

“Hopefully you will excuse my swift departure,” Ms. Xiangling declared, turning away from me and back to Chongyun. “I am going to see if I might find my friend. Enjoy your night, gentleman. Let’s talk again.” She gave the sweetest wave and passed a flustered Chongyun, exiting the balcony.

There were two distant moments during which the cold of the winter night shook my spine and the music from the ballroom became a graceful sound, before Chongyun rushed beside me, placing a hand against my forearm. His icy blue eyes studied me, brows furrowed.

“I saw you depart from Xiangling earlier. Are you okay?” And I must have looked like a fool, mouth parted, heart pounding. He had seen me storm off. And unlike most, he was not repulsed by my shameful actions. He was concerned. I realized then, after contemplating the genuine worry displayed by Xiangling, and now, by Chongyun, that perhaps I shouldn’t be so disgraced with myself. The disrespect I had shown was abnormal for me and therefore received the attention of others. So maybe, just maybe, I presented myself better than I presumed.

Upon that realization, I was dragged back into the current moment by crystal blue eyes which flooded with endless worry. I could feel the tide pulling back against my legs.
“I am quite alright. Thank you, Chongyun.” But his worry did not go away, and his hand did not leave my arm. The touch, once so tender and cool, had become warm and firm, as if his fingers attempted to speak. As if he was saying “I don’t believe you.” Not in his tactile cotton voice, but his shaky, dread filled mumble. He asked I question that I dreaded,

“What happened?” Of course he had asked it. Uncalled for behavior ought to have an explanation. So I straightened my stance and swallowed thickly.
“I just needed some fresh air, is all.” And what I thought was a fair explanation must have not been. Because then, horror struck his eyes and passed over his face.

“Are you ill? I knew I should not have kept you up so late!” In a swift motion he moved his resting hand against my head and I suppressed a shiver at the frosty feeling of his palm, before speaking again.
“No, Chongyun,” I gently moved his hand away, but the concerned gaze made my chest swim with fondness and I gave him an unintentional, reassuring smile. “I am just fine, really.” He studied me warily and in a fragile voice said,
“You would tell me if you were not?” His hand, so gentle and his words, so delicate.
“Yes,” I replied with fleeting hesitation. Because even if an unfavorable circumstance demanded that I would keep something from him, I believed I would fall short.

Then Chongyun smiled, just slightly, a half-hearted, but meaningful grin, before biting against his lip as if he tasted something unfavorable. Before I could ask him why he made such a face, the impatient boy wrapped himself around me tightly, his arms locking around my waist, holding me gently. I gasped in surprise, and he tensed with anxiety. So, in both reassurance and also adoration, I hugged Chongyun tightly in return, both hands pressed where shoulders meet his back and my head ducked into his shoulder. I felt the low thrum of his heartbeat against my own chest, and my ears felt warm with the intimacy. Tender, beautiful, poetic, and euphoric newness. It swelled and it spilled over me as we breathed in unison.

He pulled back slowly, on an exhale, and sighed helplessly, before locking eyes with me. “Their charm outshines everything else.” A low mutter of generous words,
“I care about you, Xingqiu. A lot.” And I nodded, because “yes” was all I managed to think.

Chapter Text

Throughout our time together, I had observed the lottery boy’s alarming lack of exhaustion. Late nights he spent awake, studying the science of the occult, rereading Frankenstein, or sketching. Unlike the icy boy, I would often fall asleep reading, whereas his mind was always moving, spreading like the aesthetic crystals of frost against glass windows. I was convinced his mind would neither slow nor stop until the window was blurred completely.

The night after the dance, however, was far different from his alert demeanor. The dance ended around one in the morning, and my classmates were distributed to their bedrooms. Chongyun trailed behind me, a hand loosely holding onto the back of my jacket so as to not get lost amongst the crowd of peers. 

There was an overwhelming feeling of exhilaration throughout the hall of beds as young boys changed into their nightwear and the ad libs circulated as the metal beds creaked. Mutterings like, “Did you see the young lady I danced with?” Or, “she knows my family.” And, “we danced three songs, Ms. Barbra and I.” The adolescent admiration and infatuation with a pretty girl in a fancy dress. Naive but also penetrable. The contagiousness of the room resulted in whispers far later into the night, candles still lit on top window sills. With some annoyance, I settled on reading to pass the sleepless hours. 

In the middle of a well reviewed Samuel Richardson novel, the floor creaked at my bedside and I looked up in pleasant surprise as Chongyun stood, a nervous smile and fists clenching his night-shirt. He seemed exhausted, drained from the events the evening displayed. I watched as he shifted to the side just slightly before asking so politely. 

“May I sit with you?” Of course, I had agreed, moving to give him room as he slid into place beside me.
“What are you reading?” He inquired, his cotton voice almost silky as he whispered. Gentle curious fingers grazed the words open in my lap and something intimate clutched at my lungs. 
“Clarissa,” was my reply and Chongyun made a confused face with a scrunched nose that made me grin.
“Is she an author?” A huff of a laugh left my lips as I shook my head.
“That’s the title of the book. Richardson is the author.” He mouthed a silent “oh” and readjusted so our legs were pressed against each other, just like in the courtyard. Then asked, 

“What is it about?” Which made me frown. Chongyun would not like this story, and I did not want to upset him, but his eyes were on the pages with a snowy-evening’s wonder and I yielded to his curiosity. 

“A girl,” I settled on saying and the boy beside me laughed tiredly.
“Is her name Clarissa?” He inquired between fits of admirable laughter and I shushed him with a smile, pressing my hand against his mouth, because we would have been caught by a governess if I hadn’t. He huffed against my palm and pushed my hand away.
“Yes. Her name is Clarissa,” I refrained from looking at his inane grin, or I would follow suit in the amusement. Chongyun shifted closer so casually and his face fell into genuine interest.
“What happens? In the book, I mean,” he shuttered his eyes downward, “will you tell me?” What happened in the story was nothing good, just an innocent girl being horrifically mistreated. As is the way the world works. No one good will ever be treated as such. My chest clenched at the thought of Chongyun facing the world. He is terribly poor. I swallowed my guilt and nodded. 

He listened with a dazed expression, tired and drained, but engaged. I felt bad for keeping him up late, but saying no to him was terribly difficult. He yawned twice, and during the second time I realized I’d never seen him like this. It felt more intimate then. His hair was messy, protesting against its combed state. It almost seemed grey before the candlelight, and it swayed when he shifted. I spoke in a tone I had never heard from myself, slow enough that on another occasion, I might have groaned in impatience. But the world had slowed to match my voice. The candle light flickered from a distant breeze and the breath left my lungs in what could have been mistaken for content sighs. I told the story of Clarrisa, the story of innocence while staring intently at it. 

He made discouraged faces with eyes closed, understandably upset by the content discussed. The destruction of the innocent . But as I dragged on, Chongyun eased into a look of relaxation with his head tipped back against the wall, pressed against the bedpost. As if God willed the moment to end, the world returned to its normal pace. Devilishly so. But it did not feel like a normal pace at all. It was much too fast and the story’s content was chipped away until I was left with nothing. I had near finished my summary, and, at any moment, Chongyun would open his eyes and return to his own cotton mattress on creaky metal posts. The idea of this, of Chongyun’s departure, made my stomach spin with dread. 

So my absurd behavior continued that night as I started adding events into my reading that never happened. I trailed on and on, creating scenarios and scenes from somewhere deep in my mind. Words tumbled off of my tongue as if my conscience had been withholding them. In the middle of the night, possibly early morning, I desperately rewrote the ending of a book I had not yet finished. I spiraled as Clarissa’s future happiness flooded my throat and came out in foreshadowing and personification. Clarissa must be happy in the end. Clarissa must be freed and happy and she must find love and accomplish that which she and she alone desires. So she did, according to my retelling. Chongyun was smiling, eyes still closed. Chongyun must be happy in the end. So he was. I whispered until my throat was raw and until the ending was crafted. And after a beat of silence, Chongyun cracked his eyes open. 

“That sounds like a story you would write,” he chimed. I felt my body shake with guilt and I held my breath. “Not the beginning though. The beginning had a lack of craftsmanship.” He only enjoyed the section I had created, “No offense to Richardson, he clearly has some brilliance.” He thought I had brilliance. My face felt hot.

“You should sleep, Chongyun,”  I spoke in a regretful whisper, but he shook his head.
“I’m sure you have other stories to share.” My hands twitched.
“It’s late.” He sat up, looking fondly.
“Isn’t it? It’s just us awake.”
“Chongyun—” He let out a huff of laughter and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
“I know, I know.” My teeth came down hard on my tongue as he stood, turning to face me with an exhausted but admired gaze. “I will see you tomorrow?” I nodded.
“Of course.” 

Chapter Text

He fell asleep during a lecture the next day. His head pressed down against his folded arms and his face framed with messy bed-tossed hair. His back would rise and fall with steady breathing and I could do nothing but stare. I wondered if he had observed my staring. It was such a frequent occurrence, but one I failed to understand. Everything about him intrigued me. 

His interest in false studies was brought about by his family, to which his dedication was unwavering. He didn’t believe in the studies he pursued, yet he toiled over them. Reading in silence with a furrowed brow. He dreaded anything social, but he came up to me in the library, hands clenching, in an attempt to find a book he had no interest in reading. I could not understand him.

He was quick to learn, quick to listen. His genius went unnoticed. And he never slept so I stared, because I was sure this sight was precious. Eyes closed and mouth parted. The urge to comb through his hair with gentle fingers made my hands twitch. I kept thinking about when he hugged me, the feeling of safety that accompanied it. I thought about cold hands and icy eyes which scarcely met mine for long. I could not stop thinking. I could not stop staring. My stomach churned and for a moment I wondered if I was ill. Chongyun shifted and for the first time since his head fell I turned away.

Something is wrong with me. 

“You did not miss much,” I reassured as we exited the lecture hall. The tall windows casted a muted light into the open area, and the boy beside me squinted against the reflected snow. Last night was surely the last snow of the winter and the oncoming clouds predicted rain. Chongyun yawned into his arm and smiled rather pitifully. 

“You should have woken me.” He was right, letting him sleep was irresponsible and he could have faced punishment. Yet— how was I supposed to— he looked so perfect. I shook my head.

“You seemed tired.” A confused huff was the reply. 

“There are times when making up for lost sleep is appropriate,” he protested. I shook my head again but didn’t give an answer. Looking back, I don’t think I had one. Silence consumed our conversation as we walked. The boys around us spoke loudly of pointless things. Things that our silence shushed and it made me question if the genuine nature of discussion between Chongyun and I was abnormal. 

“I think there is a letter for me. Mind if we stop to check?” 

“Not at all.” He smiled as we turned a corner. The walk to the administers office was slow, allowing me to admire the outside from the tall heavy glass windows. That early morning, England looked black and white, but not in an unpleasant way. It reminded me of a faded portrait. My lungs inhaled a startled breath as a single drop rain hit the pane, an image of stillness awakening to life.

“Would you like to go outside, Xingqiu?” I spun to face the voice. Chongyun had his head tilted curiously, awaiting my reply with an unopened letter in hand. The question made me wonder if he had been watching me, if he observed the way I drifted my eyes over black trees hatched into gray and white fields. I wanted him to paint England the way it sat in that moment, but that was an awfully strange request, so instead, I said:

“It’s raining,” he nodded. 

“You have an umbrella, I thought. The ornate one hanging on your bedpost.” How- how had he remembered something so commonplace? Meaningless things, yet, meaningless things of memory to him. Before I could speak again, Chongyun’s ears reddened and he spoke insistently.

“Of course, I am not suggesting we share. I am perfectly content in the rain.” His desperation made me laugh, an action I was slowly growing accustomed to.

“Don’t be so certain. I do not mind sharing. You’d get sick, certainly, if you expose yourself in such a way.” We had set out towards the dormitories, seeking a navy men’s umbrella, which hung on the metal post at the foot of my bed. Chongyun shook his head protestly and replied, “I do not suffer colds.” My walking slowed and I scanned his face for any sort of obvious humor. Was he serious?
“Was that a joke?” Of course it was. 
“No.” What? I blinked in momentary disbelief as we stepped before the doorway.

“We are at the bedrooms-”
“You are not serious-”
"I am.”
“Everyone catches colds.”

“I am a terrible catch then.” He passed me and approached my bed with a sideways smile, finding my shock amusing. “My aunt would always say I “run warm.’” I followed him, grabbing the umbrella as he sat on top my bed. “I was rarely sick as a child. The last time I ran a fever I was… eleven.”

“Eleven?” I echoned in amazement, mentally stomping upon the sudden urge to sit beside him and press my palm against his forehead. “Just testing.” I would mutter. And yet I always found his skin cold to the touch.

“I had been hiding between tall grass in a lake outside my mother’s home. It was winter time and the rain flooded the lake quite high. I was there for at least an hour.”
“An hour? In winter lake water?” He nodded, brushing his hair back and looking up to face me. And with the faintest, embarrassed smile he mumbled, “at least.” I shook my head with hilarity. How absurd. 

“I am still sharing this,” As I motioned towards the umbrella by raising it slightly, I turned and walked towards the door. The bed creaked as he stood to follow. “It would be impolite not to.”
“I suppose so, yes.”

It was cold and for a moment I pitied Chongyun’s lack of layering. I run warm. I would remember that. The rain created storks along the sky like, which the boy beside me analyzed with admiration. His hands clenched to suppress any visible excitement, and to perhaps, implant in his palms what might later consume a page in his sketchbook. Without warning, he stepped outside. I gasped and opened my umbrella, quick to shelter him. With a raised hand, signaling my stillness, Chongyun dodged the potential cover and closed his eyes, lifting his head up to the sky. As rain littered his face, he broke into a grin. And all I could do, when Chongyun laughed at the heavens, was stare. His hair darkened with dampness and crystal eyes opened to meet mine. 

“There is no purer form of water than rain.” His voice was louder in an attempt to reach me through the collective splashes of sky meeting earth. Yet, at the same time, his voice was tender, cotton-like, and preserved. 

I swallowed hard as he stepped under the umbrella. For a moment, he just stared with a somber and patient gaze. Then, as I sucked in a breath, he stepped closer, and brought a hand to my face. Lifting his head, he pressed his lips against my left cheek, weighing against me. He stayed there for a moment, and removed himself on a slow exhale, one which puffed out as a warm cloud against the ice cold rain. My face was wet where he had touched. I hadn’t recalled if his hand was warm or cold, I hadn't recalled anything at all. My whole body shuddered as things clicked piece by piece in my brain.

I thought of everything I read. Countless novels, tales of falling in love. I had read stories that made my stomach twist and my heart pound. But nothing compared to that burning sensation. It was in my fingers, tingling and pricking. The rain was so cold and a burst of wind made me shiver in front of him. Chongyun was gentle, drawing his hand away so slowly. 

“You’re cold. Should we go inside?” He said, and my chest tightened with admiration as I nodded slowly. 

It was warm inside, or perhaps so cold outside, that my face burned with the change in temperature. Chongyun followed beside me. I mentally pondered if he was walking closer to me than before, or if I was simply far more aware of his presence. Of the way his shoes made a soft tap against the floor. Of the way he combed through his hair with his left hand. Of the way he slipped into a considerate smile whenever I would laugh.

I sat beside him as he skimmed the previously unopened letter, his eyes darting quickly with comprehension. He blinked in faint surprise and looked up nervously.

“Xingqiu…” he started warily, as if he dreaded my reply, “would you like to visit my family with me?”

Chapter Text

“Xingqiu…” he started warily, as if he dreaded my reply, “would you like to visit my family with me?”

It was an odd request. And if I had not still been in a daze I might have answered differently. The only words I had comprehended, however, were with me , so I stuttered out a very eager:

“Yes.” Chongyun blinked in some sort of surprise, then cracked an amused smile at the hastiness of my tone.
“Do you-” he tripped over phrasing, “do you want me to explain why I invited you or--?” It was then that I came to the realization I had no knowledge of what I was invited to. My face flushed with embarrassment, and something in my chest got tight.
“Oh- yes. Sorry, continue.” His grin did not fade, and his eyes glinted with curiosity as he continued. 

“My aunt is visiting,” the boy clarified, following the words of the letter to convey the correct information. “It has been a while since our last engagement and I figured I should return home to see her.” Chongyun had mentioned his aunt in passing conversations. He seemed quite fond of her, I recalled. I was, at first, delighted by the idea, meeting and conversing with Chongyun’s family. I enjoy gatherings of all sorts, and I often find my ability to understand individuals based on simple conversation to be quite useful. Better knowing his family certainly sparked interest. Though I was not sure if I would find them charming after some of the childhood stories I had heard, my mind insisted that any set of parents who raised such a fine young man must be good at heart. 

And yet… 

“This seems like a family affair- why have me join you?” I asked, fully aware that I had already agreed. Chongyun made this face, one of internal embarrassment, perhaps. He still remained hard to read, especially when bearing negative expressions. And then he spoke, restrained and woeful.
“You will not think less of me?” I hated that sentence. I hated, in particular, it’s nature of inquiry. It was a question. Spoken with worry and doubt. In any other circumstance, such explicit worry would produce wrath. Do you not trust me? But the tone in which he spoke replaced any potential anger with pity and heavy-heartedness. 

“I could never.” A bit too earnest, yes. But the way his eyes, still pressed to the floor, widened in awe. The way he pressed his lips together as a pretty pink shade tinted his ears and exhaled firmly.
When he finally looked up his eye contact wavered greatly. 

“I am a bit of a coward,” Chongyun muttered, looking down again and pressing his hands against his knees. I greatly disagreed, but bit back the protest in order that he might continue. “I would rather have someone,” a pause , “who I trust, to keep me company.” I turned my knees inward, facing him more comfortably. I noticed then he was still wet, yet still unfazed. Messy hair clung to his forehead, occasionally creating a drop of rain water which would slip from the pale blue strands and silently tap into his damp trousers, creating a small dark spot where it soaked into the fabric.

“Are you cold?” I spoke softly. His brows furrowed with subtle confusion.
“No.” Though I could have sworn he shivered.

“Your hair,” my hand drew upwards to meet his head and my heart flinched against my lack of self control. Yet, I lowered my extended fingers anyway. He let out a sharp exhale, the ghost of which met my wrist as I raked my fingers through the sporadic hair. “-is still wet.” I concluded at last. His lips were slightly parted, expression slightly amazed. I shifted my hand for a moment while he fluttered his gaze and swallowed, before retreating slowly. This was different. We had not done this before. He had never looked at me this way, hair still pushed back and hands slowly closing, wrinkling the paper. It felt unattainable then, but I recognized the simmering feeling deep in my chest. The wave of elation. I wanted to touch his hair again. I wanted—

“I would love to accompany you, Chongyun.” 

We planned to leave in the late afternoon. It was a six mile walk from the institute and Chongyun wanted to arrive an hour or so before dinner. The clouds were heading south and though he had no trouble walking in cold rain, we planned to avoid it for my own sake. I took a trip to the library after another morning lecture, to read alone for a while. Chongyun said he had other matters to attend to before the dinner so I preoccupied myself until the lunch hour. 

Emma was a particularly favorite novel of mine, and here I sat rereading it since the first time it populated the shelves. And though the anonymous author, a lady, still brilliantly depicted her skills of storytelling. I found myself less satisfied and more perplexed. I gave the words themselves minimal thought as I skimmed, trying to comprehend what might have changed. 

“Were I to fall in love, indeed, it would be a different thing; but I have never been in love ; it is not my way, or my nature; and I do not think I ever shall”

As the realization shot an arrow into my stomach, I shut the book abruptly. Stories are always better when I relate to a character, when I feel a deep understanding of them and their circumstance. My favorite novel felt dry then… I refused to read for a while. 

When the lunch hour finally did come, Chongyun was not in the dining hall. I was not alarmed by this, he had a tendency to lose track of time. I checked our bedroom first, which was mostly unoccupied. Then the balcony, where rain still held thick in the air. Then lastly, I walked down the long hallway to the empty room: a cherished memory there in the wooden beams and stained floor. 

In the light of the large window, an easel stood, which I was certain had not been there beforehand. On it a canvas, where a rainy  field was etched in oil paint, a ghost of the back of a boy, umbrella over his shoulder, face tipped to the sky. And hunched over to the side of the easel, shuffling through paints, was the familiar sight of something so unfamiliar. He was barefoot, shoes discarded in front of the window. As he stood, I observed the gray paint smudging the top of his cheek bone. Next to gray, his eyes looked crystal blue, vibrant.  

“Chongyun...” I meant to call out to him, but I only managed a whisper. I did not relate to my favorite novel any more. I could never again say I haven’t been in love. And oh, I felt sick with the realization. Because something in me rebelled from nature. Rebelled against God himself. I had no confidence I could overcome whatever feeling was resting in my chest as the boy turned and let out a shriek. 

“Xingqiu!” But I had to try. He rushed to cover the painting, tripping over his heel a bit. “I’d appreciate it if you told me you were there!” He seemed a bit angry, embarrassed. Cheeks flushed and hands shaking slightly. 
“Apologies, my liege,” I smiled as I spoke. And when I stepped forward, Chongyun pressed his back closer to the canvas in the pitiful attempt to conceal what was already seen.
“Oh, you are not sorry,” he huffed, frowning. I could not decide if the sight was unpleasant or delightful.

“Are you really mad?” He caved.
“No.”
“Then I am not sorry.” I watched his gaze soften, become something much more gentle, it looked like admiration, and my stomach flipped. He lowered his arms and turned to face his painting. I stepped up beside him, but took a step to the side to avoid unwarranted closeness.  “It looks beautiful, Chongyun” There was a nervous gasp of laughter when he looked down.

“Thank you.”
“You missed lunch?” He looked up with a start.
“Did I?” Spinning on my heel, I headed towards the door, motioning the pale boy to follow, before pausing in the doorway.
“I’m sure they would serve us something. Let’s leave after eating, yes?”

A sturdy nod,
“Yes.”

Chapter Text

I raised my hand out from under the shade of the porch. When none but cold humid air hit my skin, I stepped forward. Chongyun did not hesitate, however, and paraded towards the dirt road with confident strides. He titled his head up and to the side as he walked, observing the pine trees which stood  unfazed by the weather. I followed his gaze and quickened my pace to meet his side. He was serious like this. Walking with a somber gaze. We had not spoken, because there was no need to. And I had taken note of each little thing as if checking off a list of important remembrances. His presence was still a little awkward, a little idiotic, and contained. 

We walked for almost three hours to Broxter, contributing on and off conversation after a while. The rain had stopped completely, which I was grateful for. But it was still awfully cold and I found myself trembling slightly against my will. Twice, he inquired if I would like his coat. I refused two-fold. On the third occasion, however, when I was racked by the cold wind once again, he did not ask me. Rather, in a swift motion, the lottery boy removed his coat and wrapped it over my shoulders. I opened my mouth to protest, but he spoke first:
“I don't like watching you shiver like that. Take it for my sake?” I failed to craft an answer in refusal, so I reluctantly put my arms into the sleeves of the coat, which was surprisingly warm. He still wore a long sleeve dress shirt, a part of our uniform, and seemed unfazed by the cold, just as he assured me. The design was plain, distasteful even. On other occasions, I might have refused for the sake of my pride. But I was with Chongyun. I think I preferred the Chongyun-influenced version of myself. 

We arrived at last in front of what I could only assume was Chongyun’s home. The house was small and amongst others in a slightly crowded neighborhood. I watched as he hesitated before the doorway, making a bitter face of dread? Or perhaps anxiety? I mentally questioned whether or not I should inquire of his expression. 

“I’m quite nervous.” He let out a breath in the form of weak laughter. I stepped beside him on the porch.
“Why might that be?” His shoulders shrugged and then sagged.
“I have not seen them in a while- since the start of the semester.” There were hinted words, a hushed confession. He had not visited them. He didn’t want to see them. 

I understood his dread. As I had experienced it during the holidays a week prior. So I sought to assure him at that moment. With cautious fingers I brushed against his firm clasped hand. His downward gaze shot towards the source of the touch. And his fingers unclasped slowly, but with minimal hesitation. And he watched in awe as I shifted our fingers together, enclosing a gentle hold. I silently observed as he grew this admiration filled stare, dragging his eyes up to mine with a dumb smile. His face was red and my heart felt full. That was the first time I had imagined kissing him. The thought made my stomach lurch with panic and I smiled with this nervous sickly feeling while releasing his hand. I tried not to bear any visible distraught and steered his attention elsewhere.

“Your coat,” I noted, grabbing at the collar of the outerwear, “would you like it back?” Chongyun shook his head, seemingly unbothered by my internal dilemma. But then, he gave me this stare, dragging his eyes up my form slowly, and breaking his somber expression with an impressed smile. His voice was light and feathery when he spoke,
“Keep it. It looks good on you.” I would have protested. It looked ragged, and awkward and did not fit right. But instead, I felt his voice in my stomach, filling me with a painful flutter. I swallowed hard. It was far too clear now. We were testing the waters, tipping our toes in. And when neither him nor I protested, we sank deeper. He turned towards the door, leaving me partially submerged and stunned.

Two firm knocks, and hushed footsteps behind followed by distant chatter could be heard.
The door swung open.

His mum. I thought at first, but upon further inspection, I realized I was mistaken. She was quite young, too much so to be Chogyun’s mother, since he was already seventeen. Her silky china blue eyes and icy hair were misleading in their consistency with the boy beside me. And before I could decidedly make out any other distinguishing features, she had already scooped Chongyun into a gentle hug. 

“Chongyun!” Her voice was rather mellow, but her tone carried a great care, as if Chongyun was a hidden joy in a rather trialsome life. The boy’s cheeks were aflame at the benign contact with embarrassed excitement. 
“Autie,” he gave a swift kiss to her cheek. My own face felt cold and vacant, reminded of replicated contact. “It’s good to see you.” He shuffled backwards to my side, in order to signal to my presence and glanced at me with a warm and reassuring gaze. The woman, his aunt, gasped almost inaudibly at my unexpected presence.  

“A friend?” she inquired with a tilted head before letting out a rushed: "Ah- I'm sorry do come inside boys, it's cold out here." 

The interior of the house was rather attractive. It was small, homely, and very welcoming. It seemed almost like a library, with bookshelves lined with glossaries and textbooks, papers covering the walls. Not the grand, multi-level Graeco-Roman style athenaeum at Barne, but rather a small local location. One where reading is not aesthetic but pleasant. There was a small drawing room, a kitchen and dining area, and the bedrooms of course. Two in total.

“Auntie,” Chongyun began as we reconvened at the fireplace. “This is my friend from the academy, Xingqiu.” I took this opportunity to exert my endless experience in social situations, extending my hand, which she received with grace.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” She waved her hand in humble dismissal of such a formal greeting.

“Call me Shenhe, dear.” I instantly valued the way she spoke, full and fluent, cold, a deep pool of flowing sound. And I felt myself slipping to unwarranted criticism of the way she carried herself. What did she read, how did she stand? I tried to correct my behavior, old habits as they were.

“It is great to see Chongyun has made friends. He’s quite independent.” I smiled at this, because I knew that. Because he would often lose focus in conversations and because he dreaded social gatherings, gatherings not unlike this one. And I smiled because I got to see that, I got to see his distant stares and shy shifts of movement. But I also got to see his eyes light up with interest and this cautious admiration. 

I looked over at the boy in question for just a moment, grateful that I did. His eyes widened when I observed his staring and he looked away, cheeks flushed at the topic of conversation. 

“I sure hope you have not lost your artistic tendencies at school, Chongyun,” Shenhe smiled and spoke quietly as if a secret was being shared. He grinned at the validation.
Of course not.” When I obtained clarity of the discussion I chimed,
“Chongyun painted a beautiful portrait during his time at Barne.” His hands clenched beside me, and I wondered if I misspoke. Shenhe’s expression became one of surprise.
“You said you hated self portraits.” Chongyun was unresponsive to that remark and despite his obvious discomfort, I pressed on, it was foolish.
“Oh, sorry. I was not clear. It was a portrait of me.” There was a pause. Shenhe’s presence became a bit heavier. And Chongyun’s gaze burned into the floor.

“Chongyun,” I shivered at her tone, once gentle, now intentional. He looked up with a distant and anxious expression, which caused Shenhe’s to soften. It became something so familiar, and it did not take long to recognize. Xiangling made the same expression to me the night of the New Years Ball. She had looked back at me with this heavy gentle gaze. It was sincere and warm, but her tone was full of pity and sorrow.

“Xingqiu-”

“Chongyun!” A new voice. An excited one, more so than his aunt, but with less intentionality, less care.

“We’ll talk later?” Shenhe inquired in that same broken tone, worried and concerned. Chongyun nodded weakly and my stomach swam with worry. 

A woman raced up from the kitchen as Shenhe stepped back. She was shorter than Shenhe, but carried the same china colored eyes. She embraced Chongyun tightly and he smiled this saddened smile, I could not help but think I ruined something inside him. She kissed his cheek firmly, then his forehead. “Welcome home,” I could only presume this was his mother as Chongyun laughed tenderly, separating himself.  There was a moment of reuniting shared between the boy and his mother, who asked insistent questions that made Chongyun visibly nervous. He stuttered his replies and carried this off putting, shy expression. 

His mother was far different than anticipated. Unlike Miss. Shenhe, she was quite vocal and hyperactive, skipping from topic to topic like a smooth stone on water. There was no resemblance outside of the physical attributes between her and her son and I found Chongyun’s exhaustion understandable. After far too much time, she seemed to notice me. The introductions were brief, however, interrupted by another presence. 

This one, alarming. It wasn’t just the way Chongyun tensed beside me, or the way his hands caved into each other that made me reach such a conclusion. More so, it was the way his mother’s face fell with this unspoken expectation of nothing good. Or perhaps, even more so, it was the way Shenhe immediately rested her hand upon Chongyun’s shoulder as a way of easing his obvious anxiety.  Regardless of the means to reach this conclusion, I knew the painful words spoken over my dear friend came from the mouth of the approaching company. 

He seemed shocked, before giving an authentic smile, one that seemed to loosen the noticeable tension only slightly.

“Chongyun,” he did not have the crystal ice eyes, or the soft sky colored hair. Rather, he matched Chongyun in other features. White skin and keen observant stares. He was somber in a way Chongyun was, attentive and suppressive of outward expression. “I did not know you were visiting. Did you send a letter?” 

Chongyun stepped forward now, the dread slowly washing off with a bit more naturalness replacing it, “I did not. I apologize. Mother wrote me one concerning the arrival of  Aunt Shenhe. She invited me to have dinner tonight.” I had made too many assumptions, but I was certain before us stood his father, by the way he shot his wife a peculiar look. Clearly there was miscommunication. The tall man placed a firm hand on Chongyun’s shoulder and spoke in a careful tone.

“I’m happy to see you, son.” An expression I had yet to encounter occupied Chongyun’s face, pressing his lips down and casting a shadow over his brow. It was some sort of anger, but it dissipated as quickly as it came. And now, I was afraid. I dearly wished I could return to nursery of the institute and read in some sense of peace. It was clear that whatever pent up feelings that lied under the foundation of the house would surely make this supper time an unapologetic whirlpool of awkwardness. He noticed me.

“A guest?” Chongyun shifted to my side again and gave a swift nod, remembering his service as a host. 
“A friend from Barne,” he clarified, “Xingqiu, this is my father.” The man’s hand was cold when I shook it, but not in the refreshing way Chongyun’s  was, or maybe, that was just me overthinking. 

“It’s a pleasure, sir.” He gave me an approving nod, and, by some miracle the atmosphere was easing bit by bit.

Chapter Text

It was during dinner, after all forms of reinvolving themselves with Chongyun and his current affairs, that the hosts and guest began to take interest in me. 

“Your name sounds familiar. Who is your father?” The question was proposed by Chongyun’s father in a formal, respectful way. Yet, I hesitated. There is always a change in character when people find out your significance. 
“Li Qiang, I am his second son.” When I finally answered, Chongyun’s mother let out a swift gasp and her fork came to a rest.
“The politician?” He inquired. I was given an opportunity then, a fleeting chance to escape. But some buried pride and deep curiosity ushered me to continue.
“Yes.” Chongyun gave me this side look, as if he had not known that. Surely I told him, I told everyone so that they would treat me with respect. The thought occurred to  me then that I never seeked his respect. Only his friendship. Perhaps I had not mentioned my father after all. 

The family seemed rather taken aback, and I knew then that I had created some sort of tension. I tugged at my collar anxiously. Chongyun observed that also, and he gave me this careful stare, almost an apologetic one. I tried to resist the urge to grab his arm and walk out with him, though quite strong the desire was.

“You must not be familiar with such informal gatherings then.” Then, I grew a bit conflicted about my earlier decision to share. I had no intention to diminish the kind welcome and generosity.
“Oh no, this is lovely, thank you.” There was a pause of disbelief, before Chongyun’s mother spoke.
“How did you befriend Chongyun?” The question had a hint of confusion. Why would you befriend Chongyun? I smiled awkwardly, as if I hadn’t embarrassed myself enough. 

“We met in the school’s library.” I recalled our meeting fondly. “Chongyun was inquiring about a book.” The boy beside me kept shuffling nervously, as if he feared my words.

They continued pressing me about Chongyun, about his grades, about our friendship. I had no problem answering, I took pride in Chongyun and our friendship. He was a wonderful person and I had no difficulty expressing that to his relatives. When the topic of hobbies came up, Chongyun tensed beside me. I figured, foolishly, that it was some sort of shy embarrassment. I understand, dear reader, your hatred of me for the stupidity that followed, but I spoke about his artistic talents and how dearly he enjoyed it. I learned I enjoyed boasting about Chongyun, and I also learned I was ignorant to anything yet that which I enjoyed.

His father made this unpleasant surprised expression, before laughing it off.
“Being an artist is awfully expensive, isn't it?” Chongyun’s hands clenched.
“It can be surprisingly rewarding with the proper patron or patroness.” Was my reply.
“A foolish investment in my mind. You think so, don't you, Chongyun?” I realized then, that the man was not even speaking to me in the first place. His son gave him a harsh glare, one that made my mouth part shamefully, before he stood quite forcefully.

When he stormed off, I followed him, assuming what he needed then was comfort. He stepped outside, finding the inclosed home suffocating, as he would explain later. And I, blinded by some uncalled for desire to help, slipped out the door shortly after. 

He was pacing outside, taking swift strides back and forth and his face was hot red. He seemed to be suppressing whatever rising emotion was upon him, pushing it back down to prevent some outburst. And foolish as I was, I tried to engage with this, for lack of better terms, explosive.

“Chongyun-“ I had said first, my tone gentle. I was going to comfort him. As always. As selfish and as stupid as always, because in pride, I tried to play the hero, saving this poor victim from his ignorant father. I presumed he was sad, and broken-hearted. But the moment he snapped, I knew I had greatly misunderstood the situation. 

“Do you ever shut up?” He spun to face me, eyes dark, and stance infuriated. “Are you too self-centered to observe when someone is uncomfortable in a conversation?” Something cracked in my heart at his words, perhaps because he was right, or perhaps because he looked so mad. I sucked in a slow inhale, but instead of a reasonable response:

“What?” I spoke with anger at his sudden rudeness. Chongyun seemed to be folding into himself, his breathing was rapid. 

“I knew you were selfish but–” he rocked on his heels, raking through his hair, painfully laborious breaths.”You really have no mind for anyone. Anyone but yourself.” I knew I had misspoke. I knew I should have kept my mouth shut, because he had sighed in discomfort and tensed with worry. I knew I was wrong. But I suppose I hadn't really changed, because it was pride that edged me on. 

“What are you talking about?” I knew.
“You know!” I did. “You cannot bring up anything about arts or dancing or, or, our conversations!” Dancing : the memory was warm, almost comforting, until the cold wind blew and I was snapped back into the present, where Chongyun stood a flame. His eyes looked accusingly just below mine as if eye contact would deconstruct his resolve. “He would throw me out!” The he was obviously in reference to his father. And this horrid part of me thought I could resonate with the man. He wanted, it seemed, for Chongyun to  be finally stable. That was a reasonable want, even a virtuous one. So I voiced my ignorant confusion at his distraught.

“I do not understand.” He made some sort of tsk noise and turned as if he was done talking, but he was not. 

“Of course you don’t! Because everything in your life is simply handed to you on a silver plate!” I held my breath, knowing it to be an impossible claim to refute. He turned to me and his breath hitched. He blinked rapidly and, oh God , he was going to cry. “Of course you don’t.” The once wrathful voice now occupied this hollow and defeated tone. It was not cotton like, it was not warm nor safe. It was shattered and freezing. “Father entered my name into a raffle for Barne’s Scholarly Prestige and prayed that somehow my name would be drawn.” I could not listen to him speak, I could not stand it, I– 

“Do you know why?” His panic had lulled into a fatal sorrow, the kind that made your limbs useless and your face numb. He looked at my eyes finally and I watched in helpless agony tears begin falling. “He could finally be rid of me.” The end of the sentence came out and in a sort of sob, and for just a moment I was still. In that moment, I could hear rocks tumbling behind my skull as the last of my resolve came crashing down. When I surged forward, he stepped back, worried of my intent. I did not fall back by the resistance, however, instead I swiftly hugged him. He gasped at the contact, then shook me off of him. I knew it was well deserved, but something in my throat and my ears rang. 

“Xingqiu please, I–” he was pacing again, scratching at his palms and breathing hard. For a moment, I observed his reaction not as anger, not as hatred, but as panic and fear. My lips formed a line, pursed in discomfort.

The door was opened  behind Chongyun, and he whipped around, prepared for the worst. His aunt stood in the door way, with a worried look behind her normally calm expression. 

“Chongyun,” There was some unspoken sorrow in her tone, a knowing disapproval of the way the world approached a boy she called family. I watched her nephew shutter, shoulders falling, then walk, almost run to her. When they met at the door, she hugged him, kissing his head. God must have frowned at the way the contact made me flood with unwarranted envy. She whispered something kind, something I never heard, then guided him inside. Her eyes searched until they met my stature and I swallowed hard. I disgraced myself when she stepped forward, shutting my eyes fast and letting out some sort of whimper. I was afraid of the wrath she might unleash, but wrath never came. A gentle hand took position on my shoulder. I hadn’t known that I was crying. I hadn't known that the stun of losing my happiness, the sting of Chongyun’s anger had wrecked me so blindly. Shenhe was assuring me in silence, walking me towards the door. I knew nothing but this desire to help, which made my body itch hot. My life had become dedicated to his happiness and I had destroyed all that I worked toward. I just wanted to fix it. But I did not see Chongyun when I went inside, Shenhe’s hand still firm on my shoulder. I was shivering, finally aware of how cold it had been. I focused my senses, knowing such panic was not helpful. Breathing deeply, I observed my shaking, my hands, my arms, my face. Sound: distant voices, Miss. Shenhe’s voice. She was speaking to me. I composed myself when she spoke, urging me to change my attire in order to prevent a cold. Yet I could only think of Chongyun. Chongyun, Chongyun, Chongyun. 

I found myself heeding Miss. Shenhe’s instruction. She gave me a nightgown, which I observed with sobering confusion. Ah- I would be staying the night. Of course I was. Chongyun was far too nice to force me, susceptible as I am to cold weather, to return to school in such a climate. Yet at that moment, I believe I would have rather faced the cold than my friend.

Chapter Text

We remained separate for a while. During which I attempted to compose myself, changing my attire and relaxing my restless state of mind. Before, finally, walking into the bedroom where Chongyun sat beside his aunt. He looked up, his face a saddening splotchy red, and muttered a surprised:

“You’re wearing my night shirt.” Ah- that made sense, didn't it? The realization made my ears flush and I looked to the side worriedly. 

“I’ll leave you boys for the evening,” Shenhe interjected against the silence, “get some rest.” She kissed Chongyun’s head and again I was envious. I wanted to comfort him. I wanted to kiss his head, his cheeks. A caring glance was cast my way as she walked past me and my envy was replaced with shame. 

We were alone in the room. He was staring, and when I noticed, he looked away. I watched him shift awkwardly on the bed, and pat the space beside him, a signal for me to accompany him. I was nervous, shaking even, as I sat beside him, crossing my legs. He laid down and tucked his knees to his chest, which brushed against my own leg. There was a quiet and breathless moment. I prayed we would not sleep without some conversation, and collected my thoughts in an attempt to intricate something, anything. Chongyun was staring at the bedsheet, picking and tracing at its folds. This discomfort between us felt restrictive and heart aching. I felt as if we had just met again. Him, shy and face contorted at the discomfort of conversation. And I, ignorant and judgmental, yet so intrigued. 

At last, after much contemplation, I developed functional words and prepared to articulate how I felt, sucking in a breath. When Chongyun, apt of social awareness as ever, squeezed his eyes shut and spoke shakily.
“I am so sorry Xingqiu!” The way he choked out my name made me swim in sorrow, and my self control evaded me. I quickly guided him upwards, into a sitting position, and hugged him for the second time that night. This time, however, he wrapped his arms around my neck, and I pulled him towards me by his waist. He sighed vulnerably and I shuddered at the way his breath feathered against my neck. 

“It’s okay, Yun.” Finally, finally. I could hold him again.
“I’m not mad at you!”
“I know that.” But I didn’t, and the relief I felt at his words was gracious. 
“I’m- I am mad,” he pulled back just a bit, “But not at you.”
“I know,” I pulled him closer.
“I’m sorry!”
“So am I…” I loosened my hold, and tilted my head to see his face: eyes blinking harshly, perhaps to keep himself from crying. And I wanted to kiss him. To reassure him like in the novels I’ve read. To show him he is never thought lesser of. I refrained, knowing the consequences, but instead stared. He took notice, opening his mouth to speak, but closing it again for the lack of words. I, in desperation, and he, in some sort of dire need of assurance. I lifted my head, and he knowingly shifted his just slightly. I kissed his cheek gently, holding myself there while his fingers curled around the neckline of the nightgown. When he sighed  contentedly, I pulled away, the warmth of his face leaving my lips hot. The simple act seemed to calm him and I turned away and muttered:

“What is this we’re doing?” with a hand hovering against my forsaken mouth. If he heard me, he did not express it, instead, he stared at me in a flustering sort of way, loosening  his arms from my neck and dropping them to my sides. 
“Do it again?” I swung my head back up to meet his shy expression. “Please.”
“Chongyun-” I spoke as a means of warning. The water was at my wait, his influence would make me drown, surely he knew that. 
"Please,” he echoed, destroying any restraint I held onto. So, I yielded to his request, despite knowing what the action alludes to.  Something in me unfolded at the way I felt his face lift into a smile. Pride filled my chest and I pulled away, only to repeat the action. He let out light-hearted laughter at this. And God, forgive me, for that laugh had me falling in love. Twice more, his giddiness encouraged my actions, spreading like a warm fire. I refrained from repeating the action a third time, afraid that I might do a far worse action. I pulled away, but received just as much satisfaction. Because I was able to witness him smiling joyfully, and dropping his head down with flustered laughter. But after a moment, he began to cry again, tears dropping against his crossed legs. I panicked at the sight. Yet somehow, his smile persisted. 

“Chongyun?” My voice swam with worry and I placed my hand ontop of his. He sat still for a moment, a frightening moment.
“I feel-” He stammered, wiping at his face with his available hand. “I just-” he laughed again, an unsteady, shaky sort of laugh. “You cause this affection in me…” My stomach erupted in some vaguely familiar fluttery feeling. “I cannot detach myself from it. It makes me want to never depart from you.” My stunned silence begged him to continue. “It makes me-” He breathed for a moment, to calm the emotion overtaking his senses. A panic I witnessed outside just an hour or so prior. “-want things of you that I do not understand.” I understand . “I know this makes no sense.” I understand . I planned my response with caution, as if on eggshells. 

“Does it feel like-” I was trembling slightly, this newness unfamiliar to the point of causing fear, perhaps dread. Lowering my head in shame, I prayed to God that my words might resonate, even if only a little bit. “-you want something that the entire world keeps from you?” His expression consumed that of concerned shock, before returning to slacked confusion. “Concerning my art?” His tone. Warry and hopeful. I felt nervous
“No. I- I meant—”
“Yes.” My heart froze. I looked up. “It does.” His hands clenched. My breathing slowed.
“It’s the same for me.” I moved closer, without meaning to.
“Is it?” His eyes closed.
“Chongyun…” He did not open them.
“Yes?”
“I love you.” 

There was this moment, where I swear Chongyun fell apart, as if the entire fabric of the life he had experienced was all a dream he had woken up from. It was shock, it was horror, then it was hope, then worry.
“What do you mean?” Then desperation, “I need to know what you mean.” I bit hard at my tongue, frightened by the demand.
“I-” My heart pounded, a sickly, rapid pace. Because words were choking me, and I felt helpless against them. An anchor was chained to my ankle and I held on to the surface with all the strength in me. I did not want to drown. But Chongyun’s eyes were bright and full of security. The chain felt lighter, as if he was holding onto my leg from beneath me, asking him to join him, assuring me it was safe. My fear was replaced with the courage to speak all that I had suppressed, to cough out the words that had choked me so tightly. “Your company makes me happy in a way I have never experienced. I want to be with you, always. My only desire…” I recalled Chongyun’s definition of love, “is to see you happy and fulfilled, even at the expense of myself.” He seemed to recognize the words I stole, from his own tongue, from his own mouth and his breath slowed into heavy shaky sighs. “You make me feel things, new things,” his hands were slowly releasing and he seemed to cling to my words. “Novelty.” 

“Novelty…” the boy echoed.
“I love you in a way that Antony loved Cleopatra,” Chongyun seemed on the verge of crying for the third time that night, his lip shaking slightly. “I love you the way Cephalus loved Procris, the way Orpheus loved Eurydice.” 

“Would you stop giving examples in which they die!” He protested, his voice trembling.
“Right, sorry.” I flushed my gaze down in embarrassment, desperately searching my collection of literature for a less tragic piece of poetry. He huffed a laugh at this, a hopeless laugh. “Odysseus and Penelope!” I chimed victoriously, after far too much time of consideration. Before I could rejoice in my correlation, however, Chongyun placed a gentle kiss against my lips, a brush of a touch, one might have thought he missed. But I felt it. I felt it hot against my skin. 

He panicked. “Oh God, oh I’m so sorry. Sometimes I get too excited and I do things and—” I refused to let him feel any bit at fault, copying his action, with more intentionality, pausing before any contact. He clenched his eyes shut in anticipation, brows furrowed. I kissed him. I kissed him just like I wanted to. I pressed my lips against his own and he leaned against the wall and I put my hand to his cheek and I kissed him. I kissed him to compliment him, to reassure him, to protect him, to show him he's never thought lesser of. And I kissed him because I loved him.

So for a moment,  Chongyun was mine and for a moment, I was home. His arms wrapped around me so gently. My heart slowed into a state of peace and comfort. My breathing was calm and his hands were tender. I remember the feeling of warmth and understanding, of want and of longing. And In that moment, there was a world that existed where the feeling was allowed. And there was a world where I could kiss him and cherish him and the people around would look with joy. 

“That is what love is.” The world would say.

Chapter Text

We did not go to sleep that night, and though I cannot recall what all consumed our conversations, we spoke for hours, facing each other on the small bed. During this time, I could admire him freely, with little to no restraint. Persistent eye contact was still difficult for him, which I was grateful for. He would have witnessed me staring the entire time had he looked up for long. 

One of the topics we addressed was school and our plans afterwards, a conversation during which Chongyun led me to the horrible conclusion...
“Well, actually, I am unable to attend Barné next year.” ...that we would be separated.
“What do you mean?” Our legs were just slightly bumped up against each other, and he had spent the past thirty minutes fidgeting with my hand. An action I could only admire with this deep fondness, one so unexplained. He was cute, like this. But whatever joy the sight gave me was stripped to make room for the rising worry.
"The lottery only concerns one year worth of final aid. I will not be able to attend next year, the same way I was unable last year.” For a moment, this sentence was a relief. For I had been questioning with guilt how I did not notice him until this year, when I was so drawn to him now. But this layer of reassuring counsel was overlapped by thick dread and sorrow.

“Why not enter the lottery again?” He held my hand normally now, still staring down at the way our fingers slid into each other’s rather perfectly. 
“It was a near miracle I got in the first time, Xingqiu.” He groaned as he spoke, a disheartened, honest tone. I had  no way to protest against his words either, but I kept trying, feigning ignorance to a pressing date.
“Perhaps you can just ask the board for a scholarship?”
“Xingqiu-” A deadpanned look, one which resulted in an acceptance of defeat. He loosened his hold. I studied the paleness of his finger tips. 

“Five months…” my tone was breathy, calculated.
“Five months, yes.” He echoed, affirmative, discouraged. Then somehow, he looked up fondly, almost meeting my eyes. “But I will visit you!” Though I knew, and surely he did too, that visitation given our social standings was nearly impossible, I gave a swift nod. 

I will not alter the truth. Not in the slightest. Something about the late night confession just slightly altered our previously in sync  dynamic. I suppose that is to be expected. Chonyun, socially complicated as he is, suddenly got the confidence to act affectionately in a way I had not known he was suppressing. And I, knowing the danger of such engagements, refrained from imitating him. To give an example, the morning after we awoke, early sunlight making her presence in the bedroom, he immediately drew close to me. Had I not covered his mouth on instinct and sat up to scold him, a great indecency might have occurred. 

I warned him of his actions. Perhaps to hide from my correction, or perhaps, though less likely, to fluster me,  he brought the bedsheet up, concealing his nose and mouth and looked up at me with wide attentive eyes. I stuttered and stumbled over my previously firm speech, a frozen forest stare making me shiver. I cannot explain to you the wonder that his eyes were. I know I cannot. But in the morning light, snow was falling, and ice was stretching it’s frozen arms to cover the waking earth in frost. Then, he squinted just slightly, indicating a hidden smile behind the white fabric. He was so thoughtless. So carefree, so desiring. Dear bright-eyed, hopeless Chongyun.

Five months.

I tried not to draw much mind to it, but the ticking clock consumed my mind after returning to school. It was nearly as if a sign had been inscribed upon his forehead, signaling the temporariness of his company. 

I thought of it when he accompanied me to the library late into the month of January. I scanned the shelves that morning, and he trailed along behind me with a hyper focused attention towards me and whatever I was doing. It was quite lovely to see him put his attention into that which he delighted in, and quite flustering to be one of those interests.

“Xingqiu look! It is a collection of Piranesi’s landscapes of Rome!” The other being art. Since that eventful night, Chonyun seemed to grow more apathetic to the controlling aspect of his father’s parenting, far more open to the studies he might have previously cast aside with a sorrowful glance. After returning to school, I noticed he neglected the books of pseudoscience  he previously toiled over. Whenever I did point out the behavior, he’d make this slightly angered face, before returning to himself with a “father isn’t here.” I crossed over to observe the images he called my attention to. They were quite detailed illustrations, as to be expected from an archeologist, yet they failed to hold my gaze for long, Chongyun’s expression being far more intriguing. His smile was wide and full of wonder, his cold demeanor almost hot with passion. A look I witnessed when I observed him painting. This was the boy he locked away within himself and it was this authentic interest that filled me with contagious joy. 

Five months.

It was then the ill thought returned. I had only five months left to bear witness to something so precious so I savored it. When he looked up, I gave him the most enamored smile I could manage, despite the depressing thoughts that lingered. He grinned shyly and brushed against my side to make up for lost contact. 

It was weeks later when the thought returned, this time much more regretful than the previous. After class, I followed Chongyun to the unused bedroom once more, this time carrying paints in one hand, and after turning a corner, holding his in the other. The wood creaked in a familiar way upon entry, and the easel stood unmoved in front of one of the many windows, light shining onto a blank canvas, the previous one put away and replaced. I accompanied Chongyun upon his request: “Be my reference, Xingqiu!” I watched as he gently removed the paints from a chair identical to the ones in the dining hall. (I ignored for his sake the clear indication that all of these supplies were “borrowed”) He placed the chair in front, and slightly to the left of the easel. 

“You can- ah-” he stopped shuffling with his paints to address me properly, his heels rocking back and forth with eagerness. “You can sit there.”
“You are quite excited,” I discerned. His face flushed.
“I enjoy painting,” was his defense, turning abruptly back to his supplies. I sat down.
“How should I be seated?”
“However you like.”
“You do not have a pose you want to paint?” His ears were still visibly read as he tucked his hair back.
“No. I just want to paint you.” Oh.

He allowed me to read to spare myself from boredom, which I was grateful for. I entertained myself with ancient theater, a study inspired by Aristotle’s  Poetics. I was halfway through The Bacchae when I found myself unable to focus. Chongyun was humming. Normally such a sound would have been easily ignored, but I found myself listening purposefully, wanting so badly to catch each change of pitch and each shaky breath. So great was this desire, that I paused my reading entirely. When he looked up from his canvas and met my distracted stare, he stammered. 

“You- can you look down again?”
“I love you.” He practically yelped, eyes wide and panicked. Hands fell to grip the side of the easel and he ducked down behind the canvas.
“Xingqiu!” I feigned innocence.
“Yes?”
“You are infuriating!”
“How rude.” He muttered a response, one I did not ask him to repeat. I knew well what had been said. When he stood straight again, he avoided looking at me, muttering some occult-like swears as he continued his work.

Four months

And the tender moment became depressing. 

Then, as spring was at its peak in late April, I was reminded again. We were in the courtyard that day and Chongyun had fallen asleep, more proof than ever that the lottery boy struggled to sleep at night. I was talking with him, a topic I vaguely recall. Backs up against the mental fence, and a tree shading us from the sun, shining again after a period of rain. His eyes were closed and when his breathing evened, it became apparent that he was no longer awake. I slowed my speech to silence and stared freely, brushing his hair back gently. I know I would have to shush rushed apologies as soon as he was awake so I leaned my head against the steel gate and stared while I was allotted the time too. His chest rising and falling. Two months. His calm expression. Two months. His unkempt hair. Two months. His- two months. Two months. Two months. Two months. 

I looked away.

Chapter Text

A series of letters were exchanged between my father and I. It was, for me, a means of desperation. All I desired then was just a little more time. There was much disagreement and after a painful rejection I wrote back “if he does not attend with me, I will not attend at all.” The threat was anything but empty. The thought of walking the beautiful open hallways alone was a nauseating thought. A thought that made my heart sink deep into my stomach and my hands shake with authentic fear. I remembered the life I lived before Chongyun, and I questioned how I managed. Losing him now would create a familiar loneliness that would suffocate me. After bearing witness to the light of the world, I never wished to go inside again. The letter I received was a testament to my fears. 

“What you ask for is ridiculous, Xingqiu. Your friend is not a charity and tuition is the responsibility of the parents. You are being unreasonable. If you chose to be so stubborn, so be it. I will not submit an enrollment form for the next semester. We will discuss this when you are home.” I blinked swiftly to appease the stinging in my eyes. 

“Xingqiu!” Chongyun’s voice carried this harmonious tone, almost like he was singing. I pushed back my frustration at his happiness, and swallowed the lump of hopelessness that had built in my throat.
“Chongyun…” He practically skipped up to my bed, and tilted his head downwards to see my weak expression, my eyes still glued to the letter. His face fell upon seeing what I was desperately trying to hide.
“Are you alright?” He sat next to me, the metal creaking slightly. I drew in a long sigh, one that made his brow lower with concern. Cold fingers found their way over my own, which gripped, almost crumbled, the cursed paper. I blinked heavier now, hesitantly looking up to meet a face of worried vigilance. “Xingqiu?” He sounded so careful, so loving, moving his free hand to brush my hair out of my eyes. Two months.

I pushed his hand back, a bit more forceful than I intended too.
“I am doing just fine.” I watched Chongyun as he scoffed playfully. He did not bring his hand back up, however, always respecting my unspoken boundaries. 

“I can see, you know?” His voice was far from condescending. It was adoring and my heart pounded at how pretty words sounded out of his mouth. Foolish. “I might be poor at understanding emotions, but you read quite like a book.” It was so charming, it aggravated me. If he cared, he wouldn’t be smiling in such a way. If he cared, surely he was plagued by the time the same way I was. 
“Read me then.” my voice came out rasp, angry. “If I am so predictable, tell me what’s wrong.” Visible shock spread across his face, mouth parting and eyes widening. I regretted the way I spoke, yet I failed to find it in myself to apologize.

There was this spite in me. This wrath. It was boiling and replacing every bit of sorrow and I had no idea who to blame. I know now, I was angry at time. Furious at the constant reminder. Enraged at the calendar, whose hands clasped around my happiness, dragging him away from me. But in that moment, Chongyun stood, vulnerable, at the receiving end of my emotions. His hands clenched just slightly, not in anger, but in disquiet. The sight made my throat close. I was choosing to spend our remaining days, days, hours, seconds, in wrath. My hands began to shake, the same they had after Chongyun’s outburst and my stomach hurt with an anxiety-induced illness. 

These debilitating emotions left me unable to speak, my tongue turning to stone inside my mouth. So the only thing, the only person, who might have eased my mind was left  confused, and disoriented by my behavior. The desire to speak, to apologize, only grew. 

“Xingqiu?” And then I couldn’t breathe.  When I looked at Chongyun, I saw only his absence. He repeated my name, but his voice was drowned under the tearing away of a paper calendar, the ticking of a clock. I was so utterly terrified of losing him to the point of entirely losing myself. In any situation of stress I had always been able to compose myself. But this felt unbearable. My mind went white with absence of thought, I curled into myself and cried. I could feel the ghost of Chongyun’s touch and I could hear the echo of his voice. I was light-headed, shallow breaths rocked my lungs. He kept assuring me. Gentle hands guided me back into a sitting position and he pulled my arms from my face. I felt him surround me in a hug and helplessly ducked my head into his shoulder. Occasionally, I would register the sound of my name, or feel the softest kiss against my head. I found myself focusing on him and him alone, focusing on the way he breathed deeply, a silent means of asking me to imitate. I focused on the way his hand fell up and down my back in a calming motion. I focused on the words he spoke. I am not sure how long we sat that way. I am not sure if any one saw. But slowly, as if a sculpture carving into stone, chip by chip, my terror subsided. 
“I’m here, Xingqiu,” I breathed even and his words clicked, syllable by syllable. I’m here.  

“Please don’t leave me.” It was practically a whisper, raw and weak. Chongyun’s shoulders fell in a state of relief. He combed cold fingers through my hair. Instead of a response of affirmation however, he just repeated himself.

“I’m here.” My hysteria faded, and was replaced with a sense of understanding. One day, two months from then, Chongyun and I would be separated. But now, two months prior, Chongyun and I were together. And that called more attention, than anything in the future. When I pulled back, his eyes were red, and his cheeks were stained. Perhaps Chongyun would never understand the sorrow I felt that day. Perhaps Chongyun would never understand people enough to provide sympathy. 

“Are you okay?” But his empathy was pure and genuine. I kissed him, hesitation abysmal. He gasped, mouth parted, resulting in an awkward misplacement. I laughed, and he smiled. The second time I leaned forward, his eyes closed in understanding, and our lips met in a euphoric sort of way. A match was struck deep in my stomach. He shifted back, moving onto his knees. I sat up straighter and moved my mouth in to follow his. His eyes fluttered open for just a moment, surprised by the feeling. I grinned unconsciously, and he kissed the corner of my lips, which had curled into a smile. The time, the date, the worry faded. I leaned back, and his arms grabbed my waist to ease me down slowly. I tilted my head, and I shifted my lips, opening my mouth slightly, before pressing down again. He practically whined at this, and pulled back swiftly, propping himself up upon his palms. I looked up in awe, icy blue hair framing a flushed face. His under eyes were still red, but it added to the mortality of his person. The beauty of someone so utterly human. 

“I asked if you’re okay.” He was nearly panting, far too flustered then what might be considered healthy.
“I am now.” Was my response.

I had explained to him the ill-minded reasoning behind my actions. And he listened, not just hearing my words but hoping to understand them also. He did not hold my behavior against me, instead, he forgave me immediately and assured me that the feeling was one he struggled with also.
“I think if you spend too much time consumed by what will happen, you lose sight of what is happening now.” I nodded. Part of me felt hurt by how maturely he handled things, surely that was just my arrogance. 

I wish I could recall each moment of the last month I spent with Chongyun, but it was a blur of delight and warmth, of beauty and serenity. I do not believe I would ever love this way again. He would lay upon my lap in the courtyard, I would read to him. And when we turned an empty corner, he would always hold my hand, intertwining our fingers in silent, secret intimacy. We discussed topics of all sorts during meals. I smiled when he would kick my feet under the table, or reach across to brush my hair back. When I’d look at him, with my head tilted and stare intense, he would cast a cold glare and turn back to the lecture with ears red, and leg bouncing. 

And oh, I loved him. I loved the way he would have to calm himself after laughing. I loved the way he would stare at the world with wide eyes as his hands twitched with the urge to draw it. I loved the way he could get serious in moments and how he took some things far too seriously. I loved the way he jumped when I would catch him unaware and the way he’d scold me when I teased him. I loved when he would tell me he loved me, always so quiet and shy, a secret for just us to behold. I loved him. And for a month, he was secretly mine. 

The year ended, as all things do. Chongyun came with me to the train. He carried my baggage in one hand, and held mine with the other. There were people nearby, the eyes of the earth stared. But they could not protest, because the world sensed the conclusion of a tragedy and resolution was allowed. He stared into my eyes, as the steam train pulled up behind me. His breath was shallow.

“You will write to me?” We exchanged addresses long before this, and he kept the paper with the written estate tucked into his trouser pocket, though I was sure he had it memorized.
“I will,” Was my response, a confirmation.
“I will see you again?” His voice broke. I shook my head with a hurt smile.
“I don’t think so.”
“I will see you again.” A statement this time, ignorantly denying the truth. I laughed weakly, because something in me was content with this. 

“I love you, Xingqiu.” Tears fell at this, first his, then mine. He dropped my suitcase, the wheels of the train screeched at it’s temporary stop. I felt his arms around me, I felt his heartbeat pound against my own chest. I felt a hidden kiss against my cheek
“I love you too,” I whispered, “I love you, Chongyun.” When he pulled back, wiping at his flushed cheeks to scrape away the tears that stained it,  I slipped my hand into his. “Thank you for everything.”

After the train left, after I watched him run along the tracks, I scrubbed away my tears, and grabbed an untouched journal. I cannot express my distaste concerning the matter in a way that would justify it. I wrote. Because it is the poet that makes something live forever. 

My life will never evade the novelty which he brought me. Every poem ought to be about him. Every novel should tell of his kindness. I would write them all. An ignorant child, blinded by unwarranted affection for a poor boy who wanted to be an artist.

This story, these pages will never be spoken by me. I cannot share such a tale in my cursed life-time. Yet if there is a reader, yet if someone found what was hidden, thank you for immortalizing my love. I wish dear reader, that you exist in a world during which we could have. I wish you may love the way we did. And let this story be an unspoken tribute, a way to immortalize him. For there was a boy, at a boarding academy, who made the world mine.

Chapter Text

Hey guys! After working on the epilogue for some time I've lost motivation to continue. I think it's best if I leave the story off here for now. If, at some point, I plan on resuming the story it will be updated as a one-shot.

Thank you so much for giving me the willpower to finish Hang Clenching the way I intend it. I apologize to anyone who was looking forward to an epilogue and hopefully one day I will get around to completing it. I love you guys so much. Literally. Your comments and kudos and other forms of interaction always put a smile on my face. I loved writing this story, yes, but mainly I loved sharing it :)

Thanks again,

Pres <3