Work Text:
Being Xiabao’s husband means that Huaien’s good days are the best good days he’s ever had. The good days start with Huaien waking up first, when the sun’s rays are just barely creeping in through their bedroom window, dancing through the gauzy curtains they’d hung up when they’d first claimed the room as theirs all those months ago. Xiaobao glows in the morning light, skin soft, and Huaien props himself up on his elbow to watch his husband, to count his breaths, to see the way his nose scrunches in his sleep. He leans over him and gently, gently presses a kiss to his forehead, his chin, the tip of his nose. Then, when he’s sure that Xiaobao is there and alive and solid and not going anywhere, he slides out of bed, wraps himself in his outer robes, and heads out to gather their breakfast.
The dew is gathered on the tips of the grass blades of their yard, unbroken by the heat of the day, which means that Xiaoyu is still asleep in her room across the courtyard and that Zhaocai has begun his morning training at least an hour before Huaien woke up. He makes his way to the kitchen where there are, in the summer, bowls of fresh fruit for him to choose from. After gathering a plum for himself, a sprig of lychee fruits for Xiabao, and an assortment of buns for breakfast, he heads back into their bedroom.
“Baobei,” Huaien murmurs, sitting on the edge of their bed, brushing Xiaobao’s hair out of his face as he tries to wake his husband.
“Hm?” Xiaobao blinks his eyes open slowly, rubbing them with lazy fists to wipe the sleep away, “You’re up?”
“I’m up,” Huaien confirms, waiting for Xiaobao to sit up before spreading the pickings from his trip to the kitchen in front of his husband.
“Ah, you spoil me,” Xiaobao smiles down at the food in front of him. He reaches out with one hand to run his fingers along Huaien’s jaw, from the underside of his ear down, then tweaks his chin affectionately before starting in on his breakfast.
“Maybe,” Huaien concedes, peeling the lychee before Xiaobao can get his hands on them. He watches Xiaobao eat fondly as he peels the fruit. Xiaobao has never been a particularly neat eater, so there are crumbs down the front of his sleeping robe as he makes his way through one of the buns this morning. He hums to himself under his breath as he eats, something short, choppy, and cheerful, and Huaien thinks that he’d be swinging his legs contentedly if he could.
“What’s the plan for today?” Xiaobao asks as Huaien places the lychee skins in an empty bowl to throw away later. On the good days, they do things like fly kites with Xiaoyu or go into the city and try foods from the most interesting looking carts or take a boat out onto the lake or meet with the townspeople to discuss trade.
“Anything,” Huaien says, brushing a crumb from the corner of Xiaobao’s lip, “We can do anything.”
Xiaobao snaps his teeth at Huaien’s finger playfully, then wrinkles his nose with amusement and replies, “That’s not a real answer.”
“It is a real answer,” Huaien argues, and places all the peeled lychee on the plate closest to Xiaobao so that he can get to them easily, then starts in on his own breakfast.
On good days, Huaien lets Xiaobao pick out outfits for the two of them.
“Something in a darker color for you today,” Xiaobao will say thoughtfully, pulling a deep blue robe out of their shared closet.
or
“If we both wear pastels, we can match without it being too obvious,” Xiabao will tell him, handing him a pale purple robe while planning to wear a light orange one himself.
Xiaoyu, of course, will want to match them as soon as she sees their clothes, turning on her heel to change into something that’s light green or blue or whatever else she thinks will make them look like a matching set, like they belong together, like they’re a family. Xiaobao and Xiaoyu and Huaien and Zhaocai, an inseparable quartet. Huaien, to his own embarrassment, finds himself enjoying the days where Xiaobao makes them all match.
But of course, there are the bad days too. No matter how much Huaien had hoped, being Xiaobao’s husband does not absolve him of the bad days.
On the bad days, Huaien still wakes up first, but it’s before the sun has even thought about rising, when the stars are still out and the moon is the only real light source. He wakes with a start, heart pounding rapidly, throat tight with unshed tears, and stomach bottomed out with the sensation of falling and fear. There’s sweat drenching his back, dripping down the sides of his face, and he lays there frozen, frightened from the force of his own breathing. No matter how much he tries to settle himself, tries to slow his breathing and stop his shaking, he can’t seem to do it on his own. No matter how quiet he tries to be, he always wakes Xiaobao. It’s as if he has a sixth sense for his husband’s panic.
“Baobei?” Xiaobao reaches for him, patting their bed in the dark until he finds Huaien’s hand, intertwining their fingers gently. Huaien can’t help but latch onto Xiaobao’s hand with the force of all his fear. He wants to respond, to say something, but the tears welling in his throat promise sobs instead of words, so he remains quiet instead.
“Is it another bad dream? Oh, it’s alright.” Xiabao rolls over, coming into Huaien’s space, and places his lips to Huaien’s neck, a comforting gesture rather than a heated one.
“Breathe with me, baobei,” He breathes into Huaien’s neck, deep, measured breaths, until Huaien has no choice but to match them. His chest shudders with the effort of slowing down. He thinks he’s not quite done being afraid yet. With the hand still tightly holding Xiaobao’s, Huaien tugs. They’ve done this before, so Xiaobao knows exactly what Huaien’s asking for. He climbs on top of his husband, chest to chest, hip to hip, legs tangled.
Xiaobao’s weight makes Huaien settle in a way that nothing else will. The extra weight on his bones anchors him back to his body, bit by bit, until he feels substantial, solid, real.
“There we go, my love,” Xiaobao whispers, “There you are.”
“Xiaobao?” Huaien asks. It feels too good to be true– even after all the time they spend together, even after their wedding– that he gets to wake up next to Xiaobao every morning, that Xiaobao is really here, in his arms, and not married off to some noblewoman.
“Yes, baobei, I’m here,” Xiaobao says into his throat, pressing a damp kiss to his pulse and relaxing his body into Huaien’s.
“I was scared,” Huaien admits plaintively, his voice small and his eyes wet, “I thought you weren’t here. I thought I was falling.”
“Shhhh,” Xiaobao moves one hand up to cup the back of Huaien’s head, threading his fingers through Huaien’s hair and gripping him tightly, comfortingly, “I’m not going anywhere, I’m not leaving you ever again.”
“Not to go into town?” Huaien asks.
“Not to go into town.” Xiaobao confirms.
“Not even to go to the bathroom?” Huaien presses. Xiaobao lets a wet laugh escape his mouth, the hot air a gust against the side of Huaien’s throat.
“Baobei, I’m not going anywhere without you. You want to come to the bathroom with me? You want to hold my hand while I bathe? It’s a little weird, but I’m never telling you no again,” Xiaobao reassures him, his voice light with the remainder of his laugh.
“Good,” Huaien nods, careful to avoid hitting Xiaobao’s face with his chin, and then rolls them over so he’s lying on top of Xiaobao. Xiaobao looks back up at him, his eyes sparkling, and the tiny bit of light that the moon provides makes him beautiful. He’s beautiful in the sun on the good days, beautiful in the moon on bad days, and beautiful in all the inbetweens. Huaien can’t remember a moment where Xiaobao hasn’t been beautiful, not even when he was pale and sick from poison.
“What is it?” Xiaobao asks, flustered from Huaien’s intense gaze.
“I love you,” Huaien tells him earnestly, blurting it out as if the truth has been smacked out of him, as if he can’t hold it back anymore.
“Ah, so honest, my husband,” Xiaobao turns his head away, squirming at the attention. Huaien swoops in to press a line of kisses down the column of his throat.
“You’d rather I lie?” Huaien pulls back to ask.
“Of course not,” Xiaobao laughs, “I just forget how serious you can be sometimes.”
“I’m always serious about my husband,” Huaien says gravely, but can’t hold back his smile when Xiaobao laughs again.
“Come here, you,” Xiaobao pulls him in close, fitted together once again, but with Huaien’s weight as a comfort to Xiaobao this time, “I’m serious about you too, I love you too. Don’t lie to me, ever.”
“I won’t,” Huaien promises, “I won’t.”
“I know,” Xiaobao sighs deeply, sleepily, content. He drifts off to sleep, even as Huaien stays up, holding his husband close, as proof that someone cares about him, someone loves him, even if no one ever had before.
And though Huaien doesn’t sleep through the night on bad days, struggles eating breakfast in the morning, can’t muster the energy to go to the lake or into town or for meeting the townspeople or fly a kite, Xiaobao will be there for him through it all. Xiaobao will be braiding his hair early in the morning, when Huaien’s body won’t let him get out of bed. Xiaobao will be telling him stories and painting at their desk and playing with Huaien’s hands and kissing his cheeks and telling him I love you I love you I love you in one hundred little ways throughout all the days, good and bad and inbetween.