Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first time it happened, Xingqiu had thought it would be a one-time occurrence.

As with any other night, he had buried his nose in another wuxia novel he’d picked up this morning. He had jumped through a lot of hoops to get his hands on a copy this time, as it was selling out at all his usual bookstores and vendors—it featured a romance, one that had readers raving. But what had really piqued his interest was the fact that the romance was between the two male main characters, whose intimate bond of companionship usually only got as far as subtext that Xingqiu had to read into.

Xingqiu may prefer his chivalric stories, but he has a guilty pleasure for romances as well. So finding a novel that wove both genres together? It was practically fate.

The moon hangs high in the night sky, and Xingqiu’s body is responding in turn, eyelids drooping, bones heavy, and sentences blurring into one another. But he can’t stop now! The swordsman had just gotten injured and was being tenderly patched up by the other. The tension between the two is building up, and Xingqiu knows a confession scene is bound to happen. He just has to keep reading a little longer…

“You have to be more careful next time,” his companion’s blue eyes pierce into his own. His calloused hands brush over his bare back, holding him steady as his other hand brushes over the wound, focusing on the flow of qi from his fingertips. The sensation is strange, yet warm and familiar. He feels tingly all over his back.

The swordsman clears his throat. “I know. I’m sorry. But you mustn’t overexert yourself in healing me. You already spent much of your energy protecting me in the fight. We cannot have the two of us indisposed.”

The man behind him is quiet for a moment, fingertips brushing over the now scabbed-over wound on his back. They are still warm with the lingering remnants of qi, yet they leave a trail of goosebumps as they trace circles across his skin. Then, his companion speaks softly;

“I would do much more than overexert myself to protect you, Qiu.”

The swordsman’s eyes widen. He whips around to catch the other’s eyes.

Piercing blue eyes and hair the colour of the sunlit sky, tied back and tumbling down behind him. A claymore set aside, leaning against a nearby rock. Robes of white, gold, and blue fitting taut muscle and smooth skin. Rosy cheeks. A stern but gentle disposition, cold to outsiders but warm, so warm and familiar to him.

“Chongyun?” Xingqiu murmurs.

Chongyun’s flush deepens, but he shuffles closer to Xingqiu, ignoring the heat of their bodies. His hand reaches out tentatively, eyes darting from Xingqiu’s chest to his eyes.

“Can I…?” His voice is soft, so soft. Xingqiu feels like his skin is simmering.

“Yes.”

Chongyun brings his hand to Xingqiu’s chest, fingers tracing circles across his skin where just underneath Xingqiu’s heart hammers as if trying to escape his own skin and fly into Chongyun’s palms. Where it yearns to be.

Xingqiu looks up from Chongyun’s hand only to find the boy even closer than before.

He breathes in, shakily, “Chongyun.”

“I would level mountains to protect you, Xingqiu.” He whispers the words against Xingqiu’s lips, and his fingers trace up a path to his chin, tilting it up ever so slightly so that all Xingqiu can see are the blue of his eyes, his bluest eyes as he—

Xingqiu jolts up, face burning and blood rushing to his ears.

His eyes dart to his surroundings. The window is still open, the moon peeking out from the corner. His bedside lamp is still on, the soft glow illuminating the room just enough for Xingqiu to make out the novel he’d been reading, overturned and lying next to him.

So I…

He stretches a hand to his back. His fingers touch the silk of his sleepwear.

Oh.

He let out a shaky sigh, tossing the book off his bed. He’d lost his place for sure. But Xingqiu isn’t sure he could focus on reading either way. Not with his skin flushed, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, and his mind feeling like it’s been flipped upside down. Not with his skin tingling, the ghost of Chongyun’s words lingering over his lips.

“Oh gods.”

—

Xingqiu, if his own behaviour didn’t make it obvious enough, already knew about his feelings for Chongyun. He’s known for a long time now, and had felt this way for even longer. And though he couldn’t put a name to it for the first few years, Xingqiu just knows, looking back, that he had still felt the same strange gravitational pull towards the other boy as he does now, ten years later.

The serious problem with these feelings is that Xingqiu and Chongyun have been best friends for their entire lives. In fact, he can hardly remember a time when Chongyun wasn’t simply there, whether it be running after him as a kid or piercing the rain and slicing through the frost side by side. Chongyun and Xingqiu are, and always were, a given. And Xingqiu’s feelings would only put that all in danger.

He knows, if he were to confess, that no matter how kind and understanding his friend is, Chongyun would never look at him the same way again. How could he not when he learns his closest friend has secretly been in love with him for ten years? It would hang thick in the air between them, leaving things jumbled and heavy with awkwardness and discomfort.

Hence why, when Xingqiu wakes up later that morning, he promptly shoves the accursed novel that had caused that whole dream fiasco into the back of his closet, beneath old clothes and spare sheets.

“There,” he mutters, “and no more reading romance so late at night. What did I think would happen?” Xingqiu shakes his head, disappointed in his past, foolish self.

“Young master?” Xu’s familiar voice rings through his door, accompanied by a series of knocks, “Chongyun is waiting at the gate of the estate. He says you were to meet him at the entrance to the Harbour fifteen minutes ago for a commission, but you have yet to show up.”

“What?!” Xingqiu jumps up. He yanks his blouse off its hanger. “Just five minutes Xu!”

He can hear Xu’s sigh through the door. “Naturally, young master.”

—

“You aren’t usually late.” Chongyun cuts right to the chase, and the corners of his lips quirk up in amusement watching Xingqiu catch his breath. He had raced out the door as fast as he could, his normally elegant, composed appearance replaced by rumpled sleeves, a lopsided vision, and his barely-combed bedhead.

Xingqiu puts a hand to his chest. “I do apologize, dear Chongyun. I cannot believe it myself, honestly.”

Chongyun smiles in that shy, warm way of his, “It’s alright. It’s a nice day out anyways.” His smile widens a bit, looking a little more smug. “What happened to you? Slept in late today? Not very becoming of an aspiring hero.”

Xingqiu sputters, “I—I know that! I was simply… I was up late reading a new novel and it had me absolutely glued to the pages.” Which is technically true, only missing a few inconvenient details. He clears his throat. “Really, it isn’t my fault the author has such a way with words.”

“You could just save the rest for tomorrow night, you know,” Chongyun says, starting to walk across the bridge, “Something to look forward to when you have to go back to the guild.”

Xingqiu leaps forward to catch up to him. “Oh Chongyun, you don’t understand the agony that would leave me in,” he protests, “I cannot simply pause in the middle of a story! Not knowing the next twist would haunt me every waking hour!”

Chongyun rolls his eyes and jabs him lightly with his elbow, but Xingqiu can still see the smile on his face. “I’m sure you could manage.”

See? Xingqiu tells himself as the pair falls back into their familiar back-and-forth, off on another expedition into the beautiful countryside of Liyue. This is great. Things are just fine as they are.

—

The next time Xingqiu dreams of Chongyun, they are at Luhua Pool.

He can’t really make out his surroundings more than the signature aquamarine of the water pools framing the two as they walk together. Xingqiu has a book in one hand and his other gesturing animatedly between them, illustrating a particularly enthralling scene as best he can for his dear companion. Chongyun’s eyes follow him, the intensity or focus of his stare never breaking despite Xingqiu’s long-winded descriptions.

I can feel his eyes on me, Xingqiu muses. Bright, like spotlights. Yet, I do not feel the need to perform for him.

So he lets his sentences run on, lets his speeches stretch into tangents, lets his vocabulary become immature, geeky, informal, like he’s a kid once more, lost in his imagination of heroic legends and chivalrous ventures. Chongyun watches him through it all, only faltering to chuckle or add a few thoughts of his own.

His eyes are brilliant, Xingqiu thinks. Like they are encased in fractals of ice. Almost serpentine, or catlike.

No one has eyes like Chongyun.

At this point, Xingqiu can’t really tell what he’s saying. Perhaps he’s delved underwater. Perhaps he’s fallen and hit his head. All he knows is that Chongyun is smiling, beaming at him like he’s his favourite person.

Am I? And then, quieter: I hope I am.

Xingqiu knows he’s beginning to trip over his words, any poise he once pretended to have seems to have abandoned him with his sweaty palms and useless sputtering. He can’t find himself to care, though.

Chongyun’s cheeks are as flushed as roses. His eyes are glimmering in barely concealed elation. And Chongyun laughs. He laughs and he laughs and laughs so hard he can’t stop it and, suddenly, Xingqiu is flying because Chongyun is laughing so freely, so openly, without hesitation or worry or hindrance. Because of Xingqiu, Chongyun laughs for himself. And Xingqiu has never felt so bright in his life.

—

Xingqiu doesn’t jolt awake this time. Instead, the blue and the bright light fade in a blur of weariness and nonsense and Xingqiu sighs, turning over as if to rattle it back into his mind. Laughter still lingers on his lips. Soft, messy blue hair tickles his cheek.

And then he blinks his eyes open, and with one anxious sharp pang in his chest, he understands.

Oh.

A sickening sense of confusion and worry weighs heavily in his chest, crushing the lingering remnants of warm levity he had felt in Chongyun’s—well, dream-Chongyun’s proximity.

But I wasn’t reading, Xingqiu reasons. I didn’t even pick up a book. Why would…

That familiar ache sits in his chest, heavy, sinking. Pressing down into his skin.

Xingqiu stands up and begins to pace around his room, chin tucked into his fingers, heart hammering over and over in his chest in a way that he knows isn’t normal for a close companionship. Not even one as close as their own.

The situation is more dire than he had thought.

And in dire straits, who better to save him than his good friends?

—

“I keep having strange dreams.” Xingqiu sets down his cup with a decisive clink.

Yun Jin looks up at him from where she pours herself more tea, curious. Xinyan takes it in stride, as she does with everything.

“I totally feel you there. Man, just the other day I had a dream where my guitar sprouted legs and ran away to join Captain Beidou’s crew. They’d been shipwrecked by a pirate crew led by Gaming though. Their entire boat was shaped like Man Chai!”

Yun Jin chuckles. “Is that why you asked Gaming yesterday if he’d ever want to be a pirate?”

“Hey, you never know!” Xinyan exclaims. “Though, after that one trip to the Golden Apple islands in the summer, I feel like I can shrug off anything now. So it was pretty cool actually.”

Yun Jin smiles and turns back to Xingqiu. “What kind of dreams? Nightmares?”

“Well… Not nightmares, per se. I don’t wake up afraid as much as—well, I suppose I wake up nervous. They’re more like… recurring dreams? Involving the same… characters.” He clears his throat.

Although Xingqiu is pretty sure the two suspect the nature of his feelings towards Chongyun, admitting it has gotten to the point where he’d started having romantic dreams about his dear friend is an embarrassing slight to his pride he isn’t dying to make. So Xingqiu has to balance the line between half-truths and white lies, which, at this point, he’s mastered from excessive practice with his family.

“So, like a story you’ve kinda fallen into?” Xinyan asks.

Xingqiu’s shoulders relax. “Yes! Something like that.”

“Hmm,” Yun Jin brings a finger to her chin, “wouldn’t you be happy with that, though? You do already strive to be the chivalric hero of a wuxia novel, after all. What’s the matter with this one?”

My good friend Yun Jin. Xingqiu thinks desperately. Please stop finding plot holes in my bluffing.

“Well, I- The dreams don’t not make me happy,” he scrambles to explain. “I certainly feel happy in the dream. It’s only when I wake up that I’m met with mixed emotions and realize the… troublesome implications.”

Xinyan and Yun Jin exchange a look.

“Er,” Xinyan starts slowly, “Are you having dreams about, like, cold-blooded murder—”

“What?! No!” Xingqiu cries out. “No, no, nothing like that at all. Nothing unlawful, nothing criminal, nothing untoward.”

Xinyan throws up her hands in protest. “Look dude, I’m not judging! Dreams are weird!”

“I must admit my first thought was something a bit extreme as well,” Yun Jin adds, “Xinyan has a point.”

“There is absolutely no blood being spilled in my dreams.” Xingqiu glares at the two of them, but images from that first night, the ghost of Chongyun’s—dream Chongyun’s—hands soothing the sting on his back send a shiver down his spine. “Alright, well, no… unrighteous or immoral blood. Yes, I do duel occasionally, but that is befitting of me. No, it’s troublesome because—” He folds his hands together, “It’s something I cannot have in reality, or rather cannot risk wishing for. Or dreaming of. Something I cannot… indulge in.”

The look his friends exchange this time is one of concern and pity.

Oh Gods. Did I say too much?

“The matter at hand being,” Xingqiu quickly adds, “I cannot have such dreams distracting me, and I need to somehow coax my subconscious into giving me a new story to dream about.”

Xingqiu knows they’re not quite buying it if their small frowns are any indication. But they must let the matter go for now, as Yun Jin eyes Xinyan like she’s saying ‘We’ll discuss this later.’

“Well, have you tried any herbal teas before you sleep?” Yun Jin raises her own cup slightly before taking a sip. “I know it helps to settle my nerves the night before a sold-out performance.”

Xingqiu pauses, considering. That could help. If he lulls his body into drowsiness, perhaps his mind will be too tired to conjure a dream at all. “Actually, I have not. I will certainly make note of that.”

“Eatin’ a hearty dinner always gets me super sleepy too. I sleep like a rock those nights.” Xinyan sighs wistfully.

“Oh yes, especially if it’s Xiangling’s cooking.” Yun Jin perks up. “She can pack so many nutrients into just one dish. It’s practically magic.”

Xingqiu nods enthusiastically. He has to stop himself from patting himself on the back. Why did he ever doubt his own intelligence? Of course this is a brilliant idea.

“Ooh,” Xinyan snaps her fingers, “Why don’t you try meditation? I know that helps out Chongyun when he gets all overheated and overwhelmed.”

Xingqiu wills himself to not flush at the mere mention of his best friend’s name, barely suppressing a cough when his tea nearly goes down the wrong way. Gods, where did his poise go?

“Perhaps! Well, I sincerely thank you both. Your wisdom is sure to be of assistance.” He brings a hand over his chest. “But enough about me! Yun Jin, I’ve been told you’re planning on getting Xinyan to collaborate with the Yun-Han Opera Troupe for the Moonchase festival later this year.”

As expected, both jump at the chance to catch him up on their latest composition ideas. Xingqiu finally feels the knot in his chest loosen a little, settling into the familiar conversation easily. He leaves their teatime with his head held high and a newfound assurance sitting in his chest.

It is only when Xingqiu is out of earshot that Xinyan turns to Yun Jin.

“So. Xingqiu’s dreams… this is a Chongyun problem isn’t it?”

Yun Jin sighs. “This is most definitely a Chongyun problem, Xinyan. Most definitely.”

—

And so, Xingqiu makes sure to ask Xiangling for her most nutritious, heartiest meal on the menu, as per Xinyan’s suggestion—which she happily cooks up, of course. He brews himself some tea from Qiaoying Village afterwards, sipping slowly as he works on guild business. He even takes great care to try and meditate afterwards, despite the ever-present jumble of noise in his head.

He’s feeling better by the time bids his brother goodnight.

“Really? It’s only nine o’clock.” He cocks an eyebrow, skeptical. “Are you feeling alright?”

Xingqiu shakes his head. “Never better. Just trying to work on my bad habits that fuel my insomnia.” And technically, I’m not even lying, he smiles to himself.

“Aren’t those bad habits most of your hobbies though?” His brother remarks, giving him another look.

“Reading could never be a bad habit, Da-ge,” He huffs. “You know this.”

“I do it with far less frequency than you.”

“Honestly,” Xingqiu rolls his eyes, “I am just trying to get into a healthier sleep schedule. Really, you should be applauding me right now.”

His brother only sighs, patting him on the back. “Well, alright. Sweet dreams then.”

—

He should’ve known his brother would jinx it with his incompetence.

Xingqiu does have sweet dreams. The longest dream he’s had of the three thus far. A dream so sweet, in fact, that when he wakes up in another haze, he ignores all the implications of it and shuts his eyes in a futile effort to fall back asleep.

He’s sitting along Yaoguang Shoal, the waters pristine like clearwater jade. There’s not a cloud in the sky, painting the horizon in brilliant blues and sunlight giving the sea a crystalline shimmer. The picture-perfect summer day.

“Ugh.”

… Well, perhaps for one who didn’t have an abundance of Yang energy.

Chongyun is with him again, as always, though Xingqiu wonders why he didn’t bring his parasol. After all, he takes it with him everywhere in the warmer months. He opens his mouth to inquire about said lack of parasol when, suddenly, Chongyun is taking off his hooded jacket.

His mouth grows dry.

Xingqiu isn’t used to seeing Chongyun without his jacket. Of course, he’s taken it off before, while training or during sleepovers in the summer. But he opts for light colours to reflect the sunlight, and he prefers more loose-fitting clothing for comfort and ease of movement. So seeing just Chongyun in his navy undershirt and gloves, tight on his skin—

He forces his gaze to the ground, blinking rapidly. None of that, now.

“I think I’m going to go for a swim,” Chongyun sighs, “The sun is so bright today.”

Xingqiu nods in response, taking care not to move his eyes from the pebble in front of him.

I am a gentleman! He digs his nails into his arm. There’s nothing special about your best friend taking off his jacket. Stop being weird.

“Xingqiu?” Chongyun taps him on the shoulder and, well, Xingqiu has to look up now, doesn’t he?

“Could you hold this?”

“Ah, of course.” Xingqiu takes the jacket from his hands, carefully folding it up.

“Thank you.” Chongyun smiles, standing up.

He feels a spike in his blood pressure when Chongyun reaches his arms up in a stretch. He glances away briefly, mentally chiding himself on this boorish behaviour, but his smitten heart wins out in the end and he can’t help but steal another look or three.

So he watches as Chongyun stretches his arms and back, and his shoulders flex with the movement, broader with all his training. He sees the scars and scrapes on his shoulders pull taut and relax, and his shirt rides up, revealing a tiny scar on the pale skin of his lower back—

Xingqiu stands abruptly, his face aflame and fingers tingling. “I’m coming too.”

Chongyun raises an eyebrow. “But your clothes…?”

“I have many a spare blouse, my dear,” he insists, shrugging off his silk jacket, “and besides, who says I’m going underwater? I will simply wade.” He sets their jackets aside and follows Chongyun into the water. His friend immediately runs forward, a relieved sigh as the waves crash against his skin.

Xingqiu, on the other hand, sticks one foot in and lets out an embarrassing squawk, jumping back.

“Gods, it’s freezing! Have you lost your mind?!”

Chongyun, looking annoyingly serene while waist-deep in freezing water, only tilts his head, “It’s quite pleasant to me.” He feigns innocence, but Xingqiu can see a faint smile on his lips.

He huffs, tiptoeing forward once again. “Well. You’ve got an unfair advantage.”

Chongyun’s smile grows a little wider. He moves towards Xingqiu, and Xingqiu is once again forced to desperately slow his heart rate as the water clings to his undershirt, a droplet sliding down Chongyun’s face to rest on his upper lip, glistening in the afternoon sun.

A warm hand takes his own.

“Ah—Chongyun?” Xingqiu snaps out of his stupor as Chongyun tugs him forward, gently.

“Let me share it then. My advantage.” Chongyun says, the warmth of his yang energy radiating like sunbeams through his skin. “You can’t complain now.”

And yes, sure, Chongyun’s hand is plenty warm and Xingqiu’s face is now far too warm once again, but…

“That doesn’t—oh my gods,” the chill of the water bites into his poor calves as Chongyun takes a step backward. “It doesn’t make the rest of my body any warmer!”

Chongyun simply takes his other hand, pulling him forward into the water.

“Chongyun, my dearest friend, please have mercy,” he yelps as a wave crashes against their legs, drenching the edges of his shorts.

“Oh?” Chongyun eyes him skeptically, his smile growing a little smug, “What happened to pushing our limits?”

“You…” The karmic retribution of every chili he’s snuck into Chongyun’s meals at Wanmin is hitting him now, and it’s going to give him hypothermia.

“Hm? What’s wrong?” Chongyun’s smile breaks into a full-on mischievous grin, something that Xingqiu has only himself to blame for being a bad influence.

“Very well,” he sighs, “this is war.” He lets go of Chongyun’s hands only to sneak a hand behind his back, cupping the water and sending a splash right into his dearest friend’s face.

Despite the water dripping from his bangs, Chongyun doesn’t stop grinning, crashing his hands into the water to send a splatter of water towards Xingqiu’s chest, drenching his shirt.

“Ack! My blouse!”

“You do have many spares, as you said.” Chongyun remarks, shrugging as if he didn’t just backstab his closest companion in cold blood.

Xingqiu gasps in mock-betrayal, but even he can’t help but giggle as he taps into the cool rush of his vision, drawing the ocean water into an arch that rains down on them.

Laughter rings out amidst the crashing of cool waves against the shore and the splashes and splatters of water. Xingqiu has the precision of his hydro vision, but Chongyun has the strength of a greatsword wielder and in a full body twist, sends a wave that has Xingqiu sputtering out water like a wet cat. Xingqiu just opts to tackle him into the water in retaliation, the soft sand breaking their fall as they tussle back and forth on the shore.

They’re covered in sand, and soaked to the bone, and he’s pretty sure Chongyun’s knee jabbed his stomach in their tumble, but they can’t stop laughing. Xingqiu laughs and laughs until his stomach hurts, and Chongyun, in between the snorts of laughter, reaches for his hand once more.

Together, like this, they are brighter than the sun.

—

“You know, you’re quite tired for someone who proposed this trip to Qingce in the first place.”

“I—huh?” Xingqiu jerks his head up, meeting Chongyun’s searching gaze.

“Ah, sorry, I’m not trying to criticize!” Chongyun amends, waving his hands, “I just was concerned.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Chongyun,” Xingqiu shakes his head, “I understand, I am just wondering—Well—how did you…”

“You keep walking in zig-zags.” Chongyun points to his feet, where Xingqiu indeed has one foot on the cobbled path and one on the grass. “Also, your sentences keep trailing off and you aren’t putting in as much effort to use your usual fancy talk.”

Xingqiu gapes.

“I—” he blinks. “What?”

Something in his chest flutters at how Chongyun flushes, right up to the tips of his ears. “Sorry. That—that, probably came off as critical again.” He shakes his head. “It’s more that, well, I hope you already know that you don’t have to worry about putting on any airs around me, or hold back from talking or whatever.” His eyes meet his. “I like the way you choose to talk.”

“No! No, I just…” Xingqiu looks away. The eye contact is only making his face go all red. “I’m just surprised,” he continues, “That you know this.”

Chongyun raises an eyebrow, confused. “Well, yeah, of course. We’ve grown up together after all.”

“Well, ah, yes.” I just didn’t think anyone would remember such things about me. “That would be only natural.” Do you look at me like I look at you?

Gods, I need to get a hold of myself quickly.

“After all, ‘tis only I who can recognize the telltale signs of a good or bad commission just from your face,” Xingqiu proudly places a hand on his chest, preening. “So I can swoop in accordingly and heroically.”

Chongyun rolls his eyes. “As if half the commissions aren’t your own invention in the first place.”

“Ah, but how will we get an adventure without a little imagination! Besides, it’s an excellent way to keep up with our martial arts training.” He nudges Chongyun, eyelashes fluttering innocently.

Chongyun huffs, but Xingqiu can see the smile curving at the corners of his mouth, soft and quiet, but always there. That’s the thing about Chongyun’s expressions, when he has his yang energy under control—they’re in the subtleties, well-hidden to the average person. So well-hidden, in fact, that strangers simply think him cold-hearted. But if you knew where to look, knew Chongyun, like Xingqiu does, you begin to instinctively look for those little signs: the lilt of a voice, the corner of a mouth, the crinkle of a cat-like eye…

“You still haven’t really answered my question though.”

Xingqiu snaps his head back up. “Huh?”

“Are you feeling okay?” Chongyun crosses his arms, concerned. “Like I said, you seem… out of it.”

Xingqiu pats his shoulder. “Just another late night, my dear friend. I had to pick up some work that my dimwit brother procrastinated on, yet again.” It was a late night, and his brother was, generally, a dimwit, so really, it is still accurate.

Chongyun frowns. “Since when have you let that stop you from sneaking out though?”

“I—Well. You…”

“Last time the Guild was hosting a networking event, you stayed at my place for five nights in a row to avoid it while pretending like you’d gone to check on your family’s other estate.”

Xingqiu feels his body betray him as a small, sheepish smile tugs at his lips. Fond memories of late night conversation, warm shoulders brushing against each other, and the qingxin scent of Chongyun’s room makes Xingqiu temporarily forget that Chongyun can and does see through all his bluffing.

“That was quite enjoyable.” He hums. “I should make another escapade like that once more, I think.”

Chongyun stops in his tracks to stare at him, his face stern and steely in the way that Xingqiu knows he can’t lie to. But he’s kind, always kind, with a gentle hand reaching forward to rest on Xingqiu’s shoulder. “Xingqiu. What’s wrong?”

Xingqiu huffs, defeated. “...I haven’t been able to sleep recently.”

“Still?” Chongyun frowns again. “Didn’t you sleep in late a few weeks back when we had that commission near Stone Gate?”

“Yes,” Xingqiu sighs, laying down on a nearby boulder so he can gaze at the sky dramatically.

Chongyun sits beside him, cross-legged. He looks down at Xingqiu in that gentle yet piercing way of his. It’s a wonder how Chongyun can be so softly strong, so gently stern, with a warm heart behind his cool demeanor, his eyes boring into him in a way that makes Xingqiu feel seen, but not exposed. Open and unguarded, but not fragile.

“Is it your insomnia?” Chongyun asks, tilting his head.

Xingqiu purses his lips. “Sort of. Well. Masterfully crafted novels and wondrous stories are always the main culprits in my sleepless nights, as you well know.”

Chongyun only nods, listening.

“But I feel like this is…” Xingqiu trails off, letting his gaze fall to the dark outline of Chongyun’s undershirt peeking out from the white of his jacket.

He wants to confide in Chongyun—he always does—but he knows walks a dangerous line by doing so. One that may result in the loss of his dearest, most cherished companion. One that is certain to ruin the most important bond in his life. So Xingqiu shoves those thoughts back into the corner of his mind and chooses his words carefully.

“It’s just—happening a lot more frequently than usual. It’s…” Xingqiu rubs his head. “It’s like my mind won’t shut off, even when I need it to. It’s always running at full capacity with hundreds of little things and ideas at once. And there’s no way I’m ever cutting books out of my life altogether, even if it causes me great fatigue.”

“Yeah.” Chongyun nods. “Well, it’s not a bad thing to be thinking so much all the time. But it shouldn’t be cutting into your sleep.” He pauses. “You should go to Doctor Baizhu though, just in case.”

“Perhaps,” Xingqiu hums, “at least if it persists for a while.”

Chongyun narrows his eyes. “Xingqiu…”

“Look, Doctor Baizhu is a very busy man with very important responsibilities…”

“This is important.”

“Well…” He trails off.

Chongyun shifts so that he’s leaning on his elbow. “Promise me.” He stares down at him, unflinching. “That you’ll go.”

And frankly, it’s quite unfair. Xingqiu is just trying to compose himself under the burning feeling of Chongyun’s eyes gazing down at him, resolute and beautiful. He doesn’t have the time, let alone the brain power, to think of a witty retort.

“Okay, okay. Since you insist on it.” He huffs, rolling over.

“I do,” Chongyun says, “and I think we should stay the night at Qingce too, so you can get some proper rest.”

“Huh?” Xingqiu sits up. “Don’t you have a training lesson with your Aunt tomorrow morning?”

Chongyun shrugs. “I can always reschedule. Auntie Shenhe will understand. Your health is more important than training.” He levels him with another stare. “You are more important to me.”

Ah.

Xingqiu feels like he is going crazy sometimes, hearing Chongyun casually drop a line like that which will be echoing through his head for the next three weeks at least.

“Really, Chongyun…” he clears his throat, hoping his face isn’t as red as he thinks it is. “There’s no need. I will be just fine.”

“Why not? It’s nearly sunset anyways.” Chongyun’s eyes light up a little, “besides, we could always train together tomorrow morning! It’s been a while since we’ve sparred.”

And, well… the way his shoulders perk up, how his head tilts forward, eyes widening, and the gentle smile on his face… Xingqiu had lost from the beginning.

“Okay.” He concedes once more. “But we must wake up bright and early tomorrow.” He insists, hopping down from his perch.

Chongyun raises an eyebrow precariously. “Only if you get enough sleep. I’m taking away your book just in case.”

Xingqiu gasps, perhaps a little dramatically, “Chongyun! Surely that’s a bit overkill.”

“Surely you can survive one night without your nose in a book until midnight.”

“Well, alright. But can you read at least one passage to me before bed?” He flutters his eyes, “it will put my mind at ease.”

The corners of Chongyun’s eyes soften ever so minutely. And oh, Xingqiu is truly, embarrassingly gone for him.

“Of course. You know I always do.”

—

There’s nothing unusual about the two of them having sleepovers, especially in Qingce Village. But there is today, with the memories of all his incessant dreams still lingering in the back of his mind—Chongyun lingering close to him, in his dream, and in the back of his mind, always.

Xingqiu cannot think, or maybe he’s thinking too hard. Either way, sleep has yet to come and Xingqiu has plenty of time to notice just how close Chongyun is.

He sits curled into himself, hands resting on the pillow, staring at the back of Chongyun’s head. If he reaches his hand forward just a little, his knuckles could just barely brush an unruly curl of hair sticking out from where Chongyun buries his head in the pillow.

Chongyun is here with him, hours away from Liyue Harbour in the middle of the night, in this cozy little inn room, sharing a bed much too small for the two of them, even though he didn’t have to be. Simply because he wants to help Xingqiu get some sleep. Because Chongyun is kind and generous and understanding and selfless and Chongyun is his best friend.

And Xingqiu? Xingqiu feels as if he is in stasis.

Frozen, suspended in the air. Hanging there, weightless, unsure, only with the steady thrum of his heart to keep the time. Waiting, waiting in anticipation of something, something to happen. Because he can feel it in the air between them, in the words they exchange, in the shaky line they walk between best friends and something a little bit more, in the casual touches of skin they never speak about.

Chongyun, he squeezes his eyes shut.

Dearest Chongyun, his heart pleads, Don’t you see?

It’s you who keeps me awake at night.

—

Of course, Xingqiu has another dream.

His surroundings are muddled, or perhaps they’re not even there. It’s not important anyways, because Chongyun is here, beside him, and it’s like they’re the only two who exist at this moment.

I know this is not real, Xingqiu thinks, Xingqiu tries to say but he cannot seem to form words in this space. Chongyun simply looks back at him, close, always close, and Xingqiu becomes heady with their proximity, with the unrelenting warmth Chongyun seems to radiate at all times, no matter the state, seeping into his beaming smiles and his expressive hand motions, the gleam in his eyes. Xingqiu can see all of it—can feel all of it now, here, in this space, so so carefully teetering on the edge of something, some feeling he keeps tucked away deep, deep inside of him that he knows he must remain unspoken.

But Chongyun is so close and his warmth envelops him and effortlessly slips past his walls, his guard, his carefully constructed, perfect pleasantries and proper behaviour. Chongyun seeks him out for who he is, all his irritating quirks and his ugly truths and his eccentricities and he still stays, he still moves closer, closer, closer and Xingqiu can feel the air from Chongyun’s breaths brush against his face—

This is not real, He repeats, I know this is not real.

But even so, even so, even so…

Xingqiu’s hands grip into the fabric of Chongyun’s undershirt, holding him like an anchor as this feeling crashes over him. His heart and mind spill out in a jumble of words, every thought, no matter how fleeting or lingering, every thought that Xingqiu shoved hastily back into the corners of his mind, everything he had kept unspoken for years and years flowing from him, incomprehensible and messy and ugly and selfish but perhaps so deeply human.

Chongyun, my friend, my dearest friend, my dear—

You know me better than I know myself.

Being by your side is so, so important to me. You are so, so dear to me.

And that is why I cannot tell you this.

But Xingqiu, Chongyun’s voice echoes around him and he can feel it, there, in the thrum of his chest—I am right here, am I not?

And how cruel, how cruel is that?

—

That morning, Xingqiu decides he cannot have any more of these dreams.

They’ve begun to affect his real life too much, waking up at midnight with a bone-deep ache in his chest that he can’t read or think or write or sleep away, lingering there even after a brief dreamless hour or two of sleep at four in the morning.

If not an ache, then he startles awake with his heart hammering through his body, sweat prickling the back of his neck, and a pool of anticipation and dread freezing his body, as if he’s standing on the edge of a long, long fall. Flushed red with the phantom sensation of Chongyun tracing the outline of his hand with his finger, or standing so close he could feel his breath against his lips, or his cheek tickling with the brush of Chongyun’s hair, and—

Chongyun, the real Chongyun, eyes him with that knowing, concerned look on his face, with his mouth pulled downward and brows slightly furrowed. His eyes are firm and searching, but still tender, still so considerately and carefully kind—

But he does not comment on it—not even a teasing remark about staying up late to read like the first time. Chongyun understands, and he knows—knows that this is different. Knows that Xingqiu will talk once he gathers his thoughts.

You know me better than I know myself.

The ache in his chest tightens.

—

“You’re not in it today, Xingqiu.”

Hu Tao’s tone is still light, but her words lack her usual mirth. She had even dropped the “master” title that she usually tacks on to his name to tease him, much to Xingqiu’s dismay.

Still, Xingqiu tries to wave it off. He could get away with postponing this discussion for a little longer.

“‘Tis none of your concern, Hu Tao. Rest assured I have all my troubles under control.” He keeps his eyes on the paper in front of him, tapping his pen on the line he’d just written. “What do you think of this verse, here? Personally, I believe the line runs on for far too long. I should probably break it up, but I cannot find—”

Hu Tao sighs loudly. “Don’t be difficult, Xingqiu. It’s practically written all over your face!” She throws her arms over the table in a mocking swoon, “I cannot find respite even in the safety of my slumber these days,” her voice drops several octaves, “where the land of dreams is only the face of my dearest, darling, Ch—”

Xingqiu throws his pen at her face. “Shut it!” He hisses, head whipping around to the window. Thankfully, the exorcist is still outside, chatting away to Lumine, the two of them waiting to judge their latest poetic spar.

“Mhm, doesn’t look very under control to me.” Hu Tao shrugs, leaning back in her chair.

“I am… still formulating a solution.”

“One that conveniently doesn’t involve the truth? Oh my, that’s going to be quite the conundrum, you know.” She tuts.

Xingqiu averts his eyes. “I know,” he says, gritting his teeth, “but how is lecturing me supposed to help?”

“One, you know I’m never one for subtlety, Xingqiu. Nothing could ever get done in this world if we all just danced around our troubles like you do,” she quips, making Xingqiu turn back around just to glare at her smug expression. “And two, because that ‘solution’ of yours? You and I both know it is foolish and completely counterproductive!”

Xingqiu opens his mouth to protest, but Hu Tao’s eyes are sharp and stubborn. “Xingqiu,” she takes a step forward, “you’re only going to hurt yourself and Chongyun if you don’t face your own feelings and open up to him.”

“And I am going to hurt the both of us if I tell him!” The words come out loud and frantic, and Xingqiu can feel his grip on his composure slipping away with each word he says. Words illuminating the fears that he would choke down—that would sit there, heavy under his tongue, never spoken but always there.

“This isn’t—” he sighs. “Finding out your best friend has actually been deeply in love with you for a decade of our lifelong friendship isn’t something anyone can just brush off! Chongyun is already hesitant when it comes to intimacy, do you realize how uncomfortable he would feel if he knew? He’d never look at me the same way, Hu Tao. Gods, He wouldn’t—” Xingqiu inhales sharply, “he wouldn’t even touch me anymore.”

Hu Tao gapes at him. She blinks once, twice, and then speaks. “You think he’s going to reject you.”

Xingqiu furrows his brow. “Well, yes, what else—”

“Xingqiu.” Her hands slam down on the table. “You and Chongyun. How—You two do everything and anything together. And you will do and have done anything for each other. No matter what it is.”

“As all best friends do…?”

“He’ll happily sit with you for hours, for every waking hour of the entire day as you’re doing the most inane and uninteresting busywork for the Guild. You frequent the folklore section of Wanwen just as much as you do the wuxia section, looking for new novels on exorcism and codices of evil spirits.” Hu Tao’s eyes narrow in on him. Xingqiu’s face heats up. Was I really that obvious?

“Again, we are the best of friends. It is normal to go out of your way for one another.”

“You complain about needing your oh-so-sacred ‘moments of solitude,’” her voice deepens in what was yet another impression of him, much to the boy’s chagrin, “and then proceed to spend almost every moment of free time you have garnered glued to Chongyun’s side. In fact, it’s rare to run across one of you without the other when I’m wandering Liyue. Even if I’m somewhere as far as Stone Gate!” Hu Tao jabs an accusatory finger in his direction. “Don’t think I don’t remember your weirdly specific matching couplets.”

Xingqiu can only manage a single strangled noise in protest before Hu Tao marches on.

“Chongyun will accompany you to Wanmin Restaurant every time without fail, even when he knows you’ll end up sneaking chilis into his food or drink! Even if he rolls his eyes and scolds you and makes you eat carrots the next day, he always comes with you the next time around. You know, Xiangling can barely get him to try any of her new dishes despite her culinary mastery. But he keeps accepting any suspicious dishes from you and only you, a notorious prankster and amateur cook!”

Xingqiu, personally, feels like a fish being grilled over an open flame.

“You’re constantly making up fake leads for him that conveniently always involve the two of you, alone, going on trips across the Liyue countryside that are days long, complete with romantic sunset views and popular date spots. And they always end up with Chongyun blushing and flustered and you staring at him, doe-eyed and red-faced and giggling like a little kid.”

“I- Well—”

“Xingqiu!” Hu Tao grabs his shoulders and shakes him. “Do you see me doing any of this with Chongyun? With Yun Jin? With Xinyan?!”

“Ah, well,” he clears his throat, feeling caught in her words like a red-handed crook or a cornered rabbit, “every relationship is different.”

“Do you see me asking Xiangling to read love stories to her, out loud, when it’s just the two of us, about two Young and Hopelessly Smitten—”

“That was one time!” He cries out. Hu Tao levels him with a glare. “...Okay, a few times, but still! You guys act like I do it all the time!”

“Aiya Xingqiu, he only ever acts this way around you. Just as you do with him, you infatuated idiot!” She shakes him again. “He seeks you out in every crowd, every group interaction. He’ll come to you first with any issue or request. He’ll confide in you about things that he keeps walled up inside of him. People will constantly turn to him first—not Xu, not any of your family, not any of us—to ask where you are.”

Something in Xingqiu flutters despite his best attempts to ignore it—that little bud of hope that preens under every lingering glance, every press of warm fingers to his elbow, his shoulder, his hand. That basks in Chongyun’s warmth.

“Xingqiu. Chongyun never talks about anyone else the way he talks about you. You changed his whole perspective on his condition, steering him away from insecurity and constant self-repression towards a path that prioritizes what he actually loves doing, adventuring and helping others. You helped him realize that he was letting his condition take over his whole world, and encouraged think of his life beyond it and what he truly wants for himself.”

“And you?” She shakes him once more, “you found someone who cares about you for who you truly are, with all facades of the polite prodigal second son discarded, for all your mischief and ugly haircuts and lofty ideals and frivolous words. You found someone you never have to act for, someone honest and stalwart and true, someone like the heroes in the novels you adore. Xingqiu, I may deal with life and fate’s intricate designs every day, but anyone can see that you two are fated to stand beside each other in life and death.”

Xingqiu’s mind is fried.

Only jumbled memories of mismatched scenery and incomplete conversations play in his head, accompanied by the echo of Hu Tao’s words like a phantom narrator. He is taken aback—not out of shock or disbelief at what she had said, but rather how relentlessly and brutally truthful the words are.

He never talks about anyone else the way he talks about you. (Chongyun, at Wanwen Bookhouse, just within earshot of the window of Xingqiu’s study, gushing to an awkward Lumine about how much he cherishes Xingqiu as a friend and that if it weren’t for his pure-yang spirit, he is sure he would have already vanquished numerous demons because of him.)

You found someone who cares about you for who you truly are. (Chongyun, listening to him aimlessly ramble on about the characters in his novel, eyes following every gesture his hands make. Chongyun, sighing in annoyance at Xingqiu’s sheepish chuckle with a small, familiar smile creeping up on his face.)

You found someone you never have to act for. (Chongyun, knowing Xingqiu to his very core, his eyes firm and searching. Chongyun, resting his hand on Xingqiu’s shoulder in concern, the other pushing away the pile of paperwork sitting untouched on his desk. Chongyun, opening his arms wordlessly as Xingqiu crumples into them, formalwear abandoned and face scrunched up.)

That tightness in Xingqiu’s chest somehow twists even further, squeezing his bones and prickling his skin. There’s another flutter of something that makes him feel a little nauseous.

He turns his head toward the window and—and Chongyun is there, as always, patiently waiting for him and Hu Tao to finish their usual antics. His eyes are kind and attentive as he watches Lumine gesture wildly with her hands. His hands are light and careful as they adjust his parasol with the shifting sunlight, though Xingqiu can see the rosy tint in his fingers from the warm spring weather.

Perhaps, if he could just find the right words, the right time, to reach forward and…

Chongyun, smiling sympathetically but awkwardly. Uncomfortably.

Chongyun, wincing at Xingqiu’s hand on his shoulder.

Chongyun, taking a step back, and then another, and then—

“I cannot,” Xingqiu whispers. He sits up, clearing his throat for good measure. “Thank you, Hu Tao, truly, but I—” he shakes his head. “I cannot. I have to move on. It is selfish to indulge in them. These feelings will go away eventually. I can make sure of it. I… just need more time, that’s all.”

Hu Tao sits, silent for a long moment. So long, in fact, that Xingqiu thought he might have actually won their unintentional poetic spar.

But Hu Tao cradles her chin in contemplation, her eyes firm, set, and analytic. And when she speaks, it is careful, delicate, and serious, as if she stands on the edge of a precipice, balancing between the two cliffs—a side of her she usually reserves for her job, as a guardian of the balance of life and death.

“I believe, with someone’s first love, you will always carry those feelings with you, even just a little bit. That it never completely goes away.” Her gaze bores into him. “Not really.”

—

You will always carry those feelings with you.

Xingqiu huffs, pushing the papers to the side of his desk in favour of cradling his face in his hands.

But Xingqiu, I am right here, am I not?

How is he expected to do this inane busywork—which was supposed to be his brother’s, for the record, yet the duty once again fell to Xingqiu because of his incompetence—when every time he closes his eyes, those godforsaken dreams would return? When he can still feel Hu Tao’s disappointed gaze boring into him? When every word he writes melds into the words of his friend? “He only ever acts that way with you,” “He never talks like that about any of us.” Unfortunately, Hu Tao’s words seemed to have outsmarted him once again

He presses his palms harder against his forehead. Is Xingqiu the same way? Is he as obvious as Hu Tao made him out to be, trailing after Chongyun like a lovesick teenager? Does Chongyun notice? Does Chongyun seek out those tells like he does? Is he conscious of their proximity every time they sit beside each other, every shift closer? Does he dread those moments? Does he—

A knock on his door made him jolt up, smacking his head against the back of his chair elegantly.

“Ugh—Yes? I am in the midst of paperwork, I do not—”

“It’s just me,” his brother’s unimpressed tone rang out from the doorway.

“Oh.” He sighs, turning his head to glare at him. “Finally worked up the courage to do your own work, Da-ge? How fortuitous.”

His brother frowns. “No. Once again, as I told you, father said it was crucial you practice your calligraphy—”

“—Which I can practice just fine on my own, thank you, without having to look over all these dull sponsorship letters.”

“Yes, yes. Alright.” His brother huffs out another sigh. “Anyways, I just came by to tell you your friend is here.”

Xingqiu perks up immediately, jumping at the opportunity to ditch his busywork to see a cherished companion.

“Excellent! Who?”

His brother pauses, eying him up and down carefully until a slight, smug smirk pulls at his mouth.

“Chongyun. Who else?”

His stomach twists. “What?” Xingqiu clears his throat stiltedly. “Excuse me?”

Much to Xingqiu’s chagrin, his smile only grows wider. “I believe you heard me perfectly clearly.”

Xingqiu can only pray his face remains a normal colour. “Yes, well, I am merely confused as there are many other potential people. I have more friends than Chongyun. As you know.”

“Ah yes,” his brother points a finger at him, “but there’s only one friend like Chongyun.”

Xingqiu’s face was definitely flushed now. Am I truly that obvious..?

He grits his teeth. “And what is that supposed to mean?!”

His brother—rather than giving him an intelligible, reasonable response as so kindly requested by Xingqiu—has apparently decided to be insufferable today as he merely responds with another smug grin before flouncing off like a pompous fool.

Xingqiu doesn’t even have time to fix his hair before Chongyun arrives at his doorway, waving politely.

“Hi. Your brother told me to head up right to your room.”

My brother, it seems, is out to get me, Xingqiu thinks grumpily. He combs his fingers through his bangs in a futile attempt to untangle it.

“Ah, yes, my brother. Who cannot seem to write an address on a letter without desperately needing assistance,” Xingqiu remarks flatly.

Chongyun’s face twists in sympathy. “More calligraphy?”

“Unfortunately. But enough about that,” he grins up at the other boy, “how are you, Chongyun?”

“Well,” he folds his arms, “I was wondering if you wanted to head over to Heyu Tea House with Gaming and Xiangling but—”

“Absolutely, please, I can just slip—”

“—But,” Chongyun brings a hand up, “I don’t want you getting in trouble for sneaking out again.”

“Aha, don’t worry about that, dear Chongyun,” Xingqiu waves a hand dismissively, “we will cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“That ‘bridge’ always ends up in even more paperwork,” Chongyun raises an eyebrow, “and besides, you aren’t in any condition to be climbing down a wall.”

Xingqiu feels a pang of anxiety in his chest. “What do you mean?”

“Huh?” Chongyun tilts his head slightly in that endearing way of his. “Well…”

His heartbeat picks up as Chongyun shuffles towards him, close enough to feel the faint warmth emanating from his body. Xingqiu’s skin prickles in response, tightening around his chest, tingling at his fingertips. Chongyun reaches out his hand and—

Oh.

There’s a gentle sensation under his eyes, lightly tracing the creases of his skin back and forth. It takes Xingqiu an embarrassingly long moment to recognize that it’s Chongyun, pointing to the bags under his eyes. Gods. If Chongyun moved his finger down just a little, he would be tracing his upper lip.

“Your eyebags have gotten darker.”

Xingqiu blinks. Not exactly the words one hopes to hear with their beloved a few steps away from you, but Xingqiu is breathless all the same.

And just like that, Chongyun steps back again and the sensation is gone, leaving Xingqiu staring stupidly at Chongyun, mouth slightly agape.

“You’ve been spending too much time on this. The stress is beginning to show on your face.” Chongyun notes. “It usually does.”

“Ah,” Xingqiu swallows, “I see.”

If Xingqiu’s unusual slowness is as painfully obvious as he fears, Chongyun, thankfully, doesn’t mention it and instead turns to examine the letters on his desk. Xingqiu watches Chongyun quietly as he shuffles through the envelopes and the papers, humming to himself, his fingers carefully skimming over the sheets.

“You’re just writing addresses and signing off envelopes, right?” Chongyun asks, turning back towards him.

“Yes,” Xingqiu coughs, “I mean, it’s nothing difficult. Just painstakingly tedious and mundane.”

“If that’s the case, why don’t I help?”

A drop of warmth spreads through Xingqiu’s chest. “Really?”

Chongyun nods. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve helped you with Guild stuff. And it’s nothing confidential, just copying out names. I can handle the envelopes, while you can sign off on the letters.”

“Isn’t this kind of cheating?”

“You’re still practicing your penmanship. Besides, it’ll go by twice as fast if we split it up between us, especially because, well...” Chongyun smiles, a little sheepish, “I don’t have to take so long to pen something legible.”

“No need to brag,” Xingqiu huffs dramatically, “not everyone is born with exquisite handwriting capabilities. We all have our fatal flaws.”

“I mean, fatal is certainly one way to describe your penmanship…”

He swats his shoulder. “Ugh, you wound me, Chongyun. After such kind words, too.”

Chongyun chuckles lightly and tilts his head once more. “So?”

It’s such a simple gesture, yet it leaves Xingqiu with a horrible blush on his face. A truly horrible blush.

“Alright. I admit, that would be the best escape plan.” Xingqiu shakes his head and laughs, the tension pulling at his shoulders melting away. “You are once again my saviour, my dear friend.”

“It’s paperwork, Xingqiu. Not a kidnapping.”

“They might as well be the same thing.”

Chongyun pulls up an extra chair while Xingqiu fetches an extra brush from his bookshelf. He sits next to Chongyun and sorts through the papers into two piles fairly quickly, not without a few quips about his brother’s gaudy embellishments.

(“Honestly, the gold leaf is too much.”

“I think it looks nice.”

“It’s not a wedding invite, Chongyun, it’s a thank-you letter.”)

Before Chongyun can pick up the brush, however, Xingqiu brings a hand to Chongyun’s arm, tugging him lightly. And when Chongyun looks up, with the ends of his hair aglow in the late afternoon sun and his eyes crinkling in confusion, Xingqiu cannot help the tenderness that seeps into his tone so easily.

“Thank you.”

You found someone who cares about you for who you truly are.

—

Despite his best efforts, Xingqiu does have another dream again. And the worst part is that deep, deep down, a terribly guilty, selfish part of him truly enjoys these dreams.

How could he not? It was a world in which Xingqiu didn’t have to worry about the troubles of reality—no duties or obligations to shirk, no family to disappoint or avoid, no perfect act he had to maintain. No best friend recoiling back from him in shock and disbelief, discomfort in his eyes as he avoids looking into Xingqiu’s own. No awkward, tense chuckle, no sharp, stinging, quiet words of I’m sorry Xingqiu, but I don’t like you in that way, or, I don’t think we should be friends anymore. No lifelong friendship in danger just because he’s gone and foolishly, hopelessly fallen for his best friend.

“Xingqiu,” Chongyun turns to him. They are still in Xingqiu’s bedroom, he thinks, but it seems to have moved somewhere near the outskirts of Qingce Village—he can see the dappled sunlight shining through the sandbearer trees overhead, framing the blue of Chongyun’s hair in a warm glow, as if he was in a painting. Highlighting the rosy pigments tinting his fingers, ears, nose, cheeks. Lips.

Xingqiu hums in acknowledgement, a book in one hand and the tips of Chongyun’s fingers in the other. Each one is warm against his cool skin.

“Can I kiss you?”

And suddenly, Chongyun floats into his space, sunlit blue hair and flushed skin framing Xingqiu’s vision. The book seems to have fallen from his hands, which opt to linger closer to Chongyun’s own.

He feels that familiar warmth Chongyun always seems to give, but so, so much closer than he’s been before. It makes his limbs and all his insides turn to liquid. He’s so close.

Xingqiu, for all his flowery, long words in his vocabulary, can only rasp out an embarrassingly hopeful “of course.”

His chest feels too tight for his body. Sweat prickles on his skin, and the air around him seems to hum with a kind of energy that will overwhelm him. That Xingqiu wants, quietly, embarrassingly, hopelessly, to overwhelm him.

And then he reaches out towards him, and Xingqiu wants to melt into him, his arms, his warmth. His breath hitches as Chongyun draws his hand to his knee, tracing a line up his legs until it settles on his hip.

And then Chongyun presses their foreheads together, and Xingqiu swears his bones will fall out of his body. His skin is aflame with every breath he feels on his lips, and Chongyun, Chongyun is so close and Xingqiu can’t stand it so he—

“Please,” he whispers. “Please kiss me.”

Yet even so, these dreams are sharp and cruel. Because they slip past and wear down the defences that Xingqiu has spent so long bolstering, one by one, dragging him kicking and screaming into acknowledging and quite literally facing his feelings. Ones that Xingqiu buried into the crevices and corners of his body and mind.

But perhaps the cruellest part is that these dreams dare to spark the smallest flicker of hope in his heart. That, perhaps, the archons are laying out the truth before him in his dreams.

How can Xingqiu expect to ever get over or truly hide the brunt of his feelings from Chongyun if the boy keeps holding him so closely in his dreams?

He clutches his chest, hands wringing into the delicate silk. It does not help to ease the ache that spreads slowly throughout his body.

It’s frightening, Xingqiu decides, to see his heart and all the ugly, persistent, stubborn truths laid out so barren and vulnerable when doing so risks losing the most important person in his life. He knows he cannot say a word. Not when Chongyun feels so comfortable around him, as someone with whom he can share his dearest dreams and deepest anxieties, someone who relies on him to have his back. The bond that remains the one, steady constant throughout their lives. The bond that Xingqiu cannot lose to some selfish indulgence of his true feelings, no matter how much it feels just a little bit like burning from the inside out.

And yet, the thoughts and feelings and everything, everything he has tried so long to ignore in such fear, only continues to slip out in everything he does. A hand that falls into another so easily when he knows Chongyun is fully capable of following him to the bookstore by himself. Eyes that wander too often. Words that sound far too warm, quiet, and fond to be a tease. A leg that brushes against his and lingers, lingers for far too long. But he cannot help himself.

“Xingqiu?”

He starts, ripping his eyes away from their brushing limbs. Chongyun is staring at him with that stunning, piercing look in his eyes, one that Xingqiu knows can cut right through him. “Ah—yes?”

Chongyun wrings his hands together, concerned. “You seem much more restless. Is it your insomnia again? Have you been getting enough sleep again?”

No, Xingqiu does not say, because every time I close my eyes I am only reminded of how I am wrought with feelings unrequited that I know, deep down, will never truly go away. Because every time I wake up I am chasing the phantom sensation of your lips tracing my face that I know I will never feel.

“I am alright, dearest,” Xingqiu says instead, patting his shoulder. “Alas, it is only another novel that has kept me up.”

And Chongyun doesn’t prod, doesn’t push with his words. But the furrow in his brow is still there, and the weight in Xingqiu’s chest remains.

Absent-mindedly, the words of Hu Tao come into his periphery once more, haunting him.

“It never completely goes away. Not really.”

—

“Xingqiu, you’ve got to do something about this!” Xiangling looks down at him sternly, hands on her hips like a disappointed older sister. She basically is, anyway, to Xingqiu—they’ve known each other since he learned how to walk—which is precisely why Xiangling managed to clock his forlorn state from a mere glance. Xingqiu averts his eyes cowardly, taking another sheepish bite of his shrimp.

“Haha, whatever could you mean Xiangling?” He tries to coat his words in his best prodigal second-son-of-Feiyun voice, smiling slightly.

Xiangling only rolls her eyes. “Xingqiu. You know acting dumb won’t work with me.”

Xingqiu sniffs indignantly. Of course he knows, but it was worth a shot anyway.

“I’m serious!” She continues, pulling out the chair across from him and taking a seat, “everyone knows there’s something up with you. And though Chongyun can be a little dense at times, you’re practically joined at the hip! Of course he’s noticed! And he’s really starting to fret over you.”

Xingqiu knows that as well. Even before Hu Tao, Xiangling, and practically his entire friend group had brought it up to him. Chongyun’s eyes narrowing, scanning his face with gentle concern, the way he’d purse his lips in thought, his fingers wringing around each other. He’d given him less flack for any leads or stories he made up for the two of them, despite being so poorly crafted. He hated the frown on Chongyun’s face and hated himself even more for being the cause of it.

Xiangling gives him one of her beaming grins. “If you don’t, I’ll get Guoba to start sneaking carrots into every meal you order here!”

Xingqiu wrinkles his nose at the possibility but shakes his head regardless. “I’d rather eat carrots for a whole week than risk losing what I have with Chongyun now that’s been built on a lifetime of friendship.”

Xiangling’s expression softens a little, but she doesn’t budge.

“Xingqiu, I know you’re scared. But Chongyun wouldn’t be cruel, even if he somehow didn’t feel the same way. He’s one of the most kind-hearted people we both know.”

I know, Xingqiu thinks, But it’s the look in his eyes that scares me. The hesitation. The recoiling hands. The step back. The awkward, shifting eyes, the nervous laughter, the withdrawal from their usual displays of affection. Chongyun, asking him to not call him “dear” or “dearest” anymore. Chongyun, tensing up when Xingqiu walked too close to his side. Chongyun, not meeting his eyes, opening his mouth to say—

“—Xingqiu!” Xiangling flicks his forehead, dragging him out of his rapidly spiralling thoughts. “Stop overthinking it!”

He brings a hand up to his forehead to rub at the spot she’d flicked, frowning. “I am not!”

“Yes, you are!” Xiangling says, placing her hands on her hips. “Xingqiu. This is clearly weighing down on you. It will be better for both you and Chongyun if you tell him. And if you don’t, I might just have to give you two a push in the right direction!” She declares.

He groans. Xiangling is a great friend, but her determination could border on intense sometimes. Usually, it was just Xingqiu’s appetite that faced the brunt of it, with her quite literal limitless boundaries to the composition of her recipes. He can deal with slime in his dishes, or even carrots, but the thought of Xiangling forcing them into a compromising situation makes an embarrassed heat crawl up his chest… there’d be no way he could keep up his normally calm and collected demeanour for long, especially around Chongyun.

Though the thought of telling all of this to Chongyun makes Xingqiu sick with fear, especially when it comes to relaying the dreams, even if he were to gloss over the most embarrassing parts… he knows Xiangling is right. Of course she was. He can’t run on sleepless nights forever. He has to be honest with Chongyun. And while Xingqiu has told his fair share of white lies and (relatively) harmless pranks—mostly to find excuses to hang out with Chongyun or to see the rosy blush of his cheeks, admittedly—this is something serious. To be honest with his feelings—the true extent of them—is the right thing to do. The chivalric thing to do is to face the situation head-on instead of dancing around it. The honourable thing to do is to make your intentions clear and known.

He cannot keep cowering away and call himself a noble hero. He cannot live in stasis forever.

“Alright.” Xingqiu stands up suddenly, slapping his hand over his heart. “I swear on the honour of Guhua himself that I will tell Chongyun everything.” He sets his face with determination, shaking the nerves out of his head. “Thank you for your belief in me, my friend.”

Xiangling pumps her fist in the air. “That’s the dramatic, gallant Xingqiu I know!”

—

Xingqiu isn’t feeling very gallant right now. In fact, he quite wishes he were a coward instead.

He’s planned it out as best he could: just the two of them, on a hill near Qingce Village, the sun setting—both for the romantic ambience and for the cool air so Chongyun doesn’t overheat. Because as cute as his dearest friend is when he’s starry eyed and energetic, he wants Chongyun to be as comfortable as he can be for what he dreads—what he knows—will be an uncomfortable discussion. And in case Xingqiu makes an utter fool of himself… well, he always has the old Feiyun Commerce warehouse he can hide out in if he’s too embarrassed to share their room at Wangshu Inn.

(What would they do for travelling if Xingqiu’s fears come true? They would have to share separate rooms, no doubt. Chongyun would feel far too uncomfortable sharing a room, let alone a bed, with his friend who’s harboured a massive secret crush on him for so long. To never fall asleep to Chongyun’s voice reading a novel for the two of them again, to never stay up far too late talking and laughing about whatever comes to mind… the thought of it all feels like lead in his stomach. In fact, would Chongyun even want to adventure with him at all anymore?)

Maybe sleepless nights aren’t so bad after all, Xingqiu muses, I could always take some of Da-ge’s imported coffee…

“Xingqiu. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Xingqiu’s head jerks up at Chongyun’s voice, panic slamming into him. “What?”

Chongyun’s eyes are steely, but not unkind—Xingqiu doubts he has a cruel bone in his body—and Xingqiu’s face grows hot under his gaze for the millionth time.

“I know you haven’t been getting a lot of sleep recently, and I know your family has been pushing more work onto you… But,” he frowns a little, “it’s something bigger than that, right?”

Xingqiu lets out a dry chuckle.

“You know me quite well, dear.” He murmurs. “Better than I know myself, sometimes.”

Chongyun peers back at him with an indiscernible expression. He’s quiet for a moment, studying him closely, and Xingqiu swears every second of silence between them stretches into a painful eternity.

“Xingqiu,” Chongyun finally breaks the silence. “What is it? Are you okay?”

Xingqiu takes a deep breath. His exhale is heavy, trembling through his whole body.

“It’s, well. My dreams. Or—Ah, no, this is far bigger than that, isn’t that how you put it? Yes, I believe it is.”

Chongyun shifts so his whole body faces Xingqiu, to get a better look at him. Xingqiu feels the tips of his fingers prickle at the warmth that draws closer. He does not move.

“You. I—You know I’ve been having trouble sleeping. But it’s not my insomnia this time. It’s not the books, it’s not the stress, it’s not work for the Guild. It’s…” Xingqiu inhales sharply. The feeling in his chest is nauseating, heavy, sinking deep into his stomach. He takes another deep breath, then continues.

“—It’s something that’s grown to be more than what I can keep within me. Because—when I fall asleep, it’s—it’s, well. You. It’s always you. In every dream, you are always there, with me, and we’re at Yaoguang Shoal, or we’re at Luhua Pool, or we’re in one of my novels, or we’re at my house.”

Chongyun nods quietly. His heart pounds in his chest, hard and loud and taking over his senses, and Xingqiu feels like he might just burst.

“And there, we are—we are together, Chongyun. Romantically. And you look at me like—we are more than friends. Like we’ve always been more than friends. Like you feel the same way I do, like I’ve always felt, and that you… you—” Gods, Xingqiu is really going to admit this, isn’t he? “You ask to kiss me, so gently, tenderly, and—I say yes. Every time. Because why wouldn’t I?” He smiles humorlessly.

“It’s everything I cannot afford to hope and wish for without the fear and reality of falling and changing everything I have ever known. It’s every time I’ve wanted to move a little closer to you, every time I want to brush the curls of your hair back, every time I wish the moments between us would stretch out forever, every time I’ve wanted to stare unabashedly at you when you laugh, every time I’ve wanted to lean in and kiss you senseless. It’s every time I’ve wanted to tell you this, that I like you, really like you, as more than a best friend, Chongyun. It’s every time I ache to say these words I’ve kept for years and years. I see it and I feel it without ever living it, and it’s so close, you’re so close that it feels like you’re really there, sometimes.”

Xingqiu averts his eyes. If he looks at Chongyun right now, then it becomes real.

“But they are just dreams. And you’re not really there, the real you. It’s all in my head. And everytime I wake up I have to come to terms with the fact, again and again and again, that it will always be in my head.”

He brings a shaking hand to clutch at his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut.

“It hurts when I wake up and I realize that it’s not real and that, well, it will never be real. Not unless I want to risk the one thing, the one constant in my life that I cannot bear to lose. But then I can’t look at you without thinking back to—” Xingqiu flushes horribly, shaking his head, “and I just feel so guilty because I enjoy them. I enjoy these dreams. I wake up and try to fall asleep again hoping I will return to that world. Because I want—I want so terribly, so foolishly to really kiss you, Chongyun.”

He feels out of breath. Perhaps he is.

“Xingqiu.”

Xingqiu squeezes his eyes tighter at the sound of Chongyun’s voice. Every second of silence stretches out slowly, painfully, straining against his skin. His heart races so fast that he worries he might be sick, anxiety crawling in his stomach. He recites the words he dreads to hear, over and over again in his head, bracing for the “I’m sorry Xingqiu” and “I don’t feel comfortable around you,” hoping that with each repetition they may hurt a little less when he finally hears them.

“Xingqiu, may I?”

…What?

Xingqiu slowly opens his eyes, hands wringing together in anxiety, taking a deep breath as he looks up to—

Chongyun. He’s there, right there, in front of him, and he reaches a hand out between the two of them. His face is flushed, and he’s shaking a little bit, but his eyes are set, determined, and shine in the light of the setting sun. And they flicker briefly, between his eyes and down, down to his lips.

This can’t be real. Xingqiu inhales sharply. This can’t be—

But his heartbeat is so loud he can feel his chest physically pulse with its tempo, and the spikes of anxiety and fear in his stomach are nauseating and sharp and he can feel it, the warmth of his cheeks burning, the rock that digs uncomfortably into his leg, the itch of the grass beneath his fingers. Every single sensation that tells him he is here, Chongyun is here.

Chongyun is here, staring at him resolutely, shining in the sunlight and oh, the rosy hue of his cheeks has spread to the tips of his ears, and Xingqiu takes his hand in his.

“Yes.” His voice is quiet and dry, but everything around them is so still that it rings out clearly in the air. “Please.”

And then Chongyun is kissing him.

It’s clumsy, and Chongyun has to adjust the angle of his head a few times until it doesn’t feel awkward anymore but Xingqiu’s heart flutters with every hastily murmured “sorry” and inelegant bump of their noses. Chongyun kisses him firmly, resolutely, and he squeezes his hand and a glowing warmth spreads through Xingqiu from the tips of his fingers to the top of his head and the bottom of his chest. Xingqiu brings his other hand to the sleeve of Chongyun’s sweater, clutching at the fabric like an anchor as he pulls him closer into his chest.

They part slowly and Xingqiu’s breath hitches at the sight of Chongyun trailing after his lips a little, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed. He notes, with dizzying and ridiculous giddiness, that he’s still holding his hand.

Chongyun opens his eyes and stares at him intently, his lips slightly parted. Xingqiu blinks once, twice. He can barely hear the wind over the clamour of thoughts in his head, racing with questions and secret confessions and hidden feelings but any word dies on the tip of his tongue when he tries to speak. If he utters a single word, Xingqiu desperately reminds himself, this will all disappear again.

“Xingqiu.”

Chongyun reaches his hand forward and cups his shoulder softly, and Xingqiu feels his eyes flutter shut almost automatically as he leans in again and—

A sharp pain in his arm sends his eyes flying open. “What was that for?” He yelps.

Chongyun pinches him again, ignoring his protests. “Does this feel real?”

“What—” he splutters, “clearly—”

“Then your body is telling you too, Xingqiu, that this isn’t a dream.”

“I…” He blinks again. Chongyun is still there, and he smiles at him, soft and real and everything that Xingqiu loves about him. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Chongyun echoes. His eyes flicker to his lips again and Xingqiu finally, finally lets himself go.

Xingqiu kisses him this time, clumsily and a bit desperately, his heart hammering in his ears, struck with disbelief. The fear that Chongyun will dissipate in front of him, that he’ll snap up in his bed at home, guilty and flustered, eases away with every kiss. Chongyun kisses back firmly, reminding Xingqiu that he is truly here with every breath and sigh Xingqiu feels on his lips, and that this is real with every press of Chongyun’s fingers trailing up his back.

Xingqiu pulls away, wide-eyed and breathing hard—in excitement, in surprise, and perhaps in lack of oxygen. He finally manages to get his mouth working again.

“So, you—”

“Yes.”

“Are you—”

“Xingqiu.” Chongyun’s hands move up to his shoulders, squeezing them firmly. “I really, really like you too. I’ve had a crush on you since we turned twelve.”

Xingqiu gapes at him.

Chongyun’s flush deepens, and he scratches his head sheepishly. “Sorry I can’t put it as poetically as you did.”

“I—Don’t apologize for anything, Chongyun, I swear. I—What?”

“I can show you my journal entries if you want. It was… quite the revelation for me.” He pauses. “Actually, on second thought, I think it’s best if those stay buried in my room.”

“I doubt it’s as embarrassing as what our friends would say about me.” Xingqiu shakes his head, sighing. “I realized I liked you at nine years old and couldn’t keep my mouth shut.”

It is Chongyun’s turn to gape at him.

“What? That’s—”

“Ten years, yes. I know.” He coughs. “Hence why I would strongly advise not asking Hu Tao or Xiangling about it. Especially Hu Tao. Unless you want to subject yourself to horrible amateur love poetry. Which I really hope you don’t.”

The boy chuckles, bringing a finger to his chin. “You know…” There’s a twinkle of mischief in his eye that Xingqiu’s heart jumps at.

“Don’t you dare! I promise I can properly wax poetic about you now. It will be much better than anything you will find there.”

Chongyun only hums in contemplation, much to Xingqiu’s embarrassment. “I’ve been a bad influence on you,” he sighs, and Chongyun laughs, and he’s so bright and his laugh is so warm that Xingqiu joins in despite himself.

They sit like that together for a while, laughing openly and unabashedly.

Chongyun clears his throat. “So, I have to ask. How many dreams did you have?”

Xingqiu groans. “Please don’t, my dearest. I promise I will never sneak you chilis again. You know, I think I finally know how it feels to overheat.”

Chongyun only flushes more, but Xingqiu can tell he’s suppressing a grin. His eyes watch him expectantly.

“... Sixteen.”

Chongyun’s mouth falls open. Then closes. Then opens again. “No wonder you were acting so, er, jumpy around me.”

“Yes,” Xingqiu sighs, “I know.”

“That’s over two weeks of nights total.”

“I know.”

“Were all of them, ah—Did I kiss you in all of them?”

“Chongyun.” Xingqiu practically squeaks out.

Chongyun’s grin finally breaks across his face, and Xingqiu thinks for a moment that maybe his humiliation was worth it all along. Maybe.

“I’m honestly very flattered. And I’m also starting to understand why you tease me so much. You rarely get speechless. It’s honestly a sight to behold.”

“Chongyun—You cannot simply—say things like—like—Ugh earth, please bury me alive.”

Chongyun laughs, kind and beautiful. Xingqiu watches openly, happily, even with his face set aflame. He feels as if they are glowing.

“For the record, you did not kiss me in all of them.” He wags his finger in Chongyun’s face, then adds quietly, “only most.”

Chongyun flushes even deeper, but his smile stays. “I would’ve kissed you in every one, if I could.”

Xingqiu lets out a strangled kind of noise. “How—you—have you been reading my romance novels?” Xingqiu blabs, “and how are you not overheating?”

Chongyun opens his palm. “Ah, well, I’ve been maintaining a frost field with my vision for a while. And box-breathing techniques. And yes, because you are the one who asked me to read them to you.” He raises his eyebrows.

Ignoring the last slight, Xingqiu raises his palm up to Chongyun’s forehead, letting water coalesce through his fingers and brush against the boy’s flushed skin.

“... Did I really ask you to read that many?”

“Yes.” Chongyun says, without missing a beat.

Xingqiu groans again. “I fear I am the biggest fool in all of Liyue Harbour, my dear.”

“Well… To be fair, I’m not experienced in romance in the slightest, so I didn’t really read between the lines too much. I really do have to work on my social observational skills.” He murmurs, closing his eyes in contentment when Xingqiu moves the water to cool his cheeks.

“Nonsense. You could tell something was up with me from the very first time it happened!”

“Well, yes. But I know you.”

Xingqiu feels warmth settle in him at the ease and certainty that Chongyun’s words carry.

“You know me.” He echoes softly, smiling.

“And I also didn’t think twice when I felt like my heart was going to implode when I looked at you as I read the books.” Chongyun shakes his head, still flushed. “I think our friends are going to call us both fools.”

“Fools we are indeed.” Xingqiu sighs.

Chongyun looks at him, gazes at him openly. And Xingqiu doesn’t look away, because he doesn’t have to, this time. He doesn’t have to look away anymore.

“I’m okay with it, being a fool,” Chongyun adds quietly, “if it means I can be closer to you.”

At this rate, Xingqiu’s whole body is going to melt.

He laughs, letting his head fall into Chongyun’s shoulder with a smile. “Shall we be fools together, then?”

“Of course,” He can feel Chongyun’s smile against his hair, the warmth of his lips, right there. “Together.”