Work Text:
Xingqiu wishes he was doing something epic when he received the letter that would change his life forever. Something heroic and adventurous, like climbing mountains in search of treasure, or fighting hilichurls on the outskirts of Qingce Village.
Instead, he lies in the middle of his room, books scattered all around him, 200 pages into his new favorite martial arts novel. Since his blinds have been closed for the whole day, he can’t tell how far the sun has moved in the sky, but it feels like several hours have passed. There’s a crick in his neck that he’s too lazy to get up and remedy.
“Young master?”
The novel falls onto Xingqiu’s face.
Pain flares through his nose as he sits up and tosses the novel aside. It hits his floor with a thud that makes him wince. “Hongxing!” he squeaks. He clears his throat, and manages to get out in a slightly more normal tone of voice, “Come in.”
As he scrambles to tidy the floor, Hongxing pushes open the door. He takes a moment to blink at the familiar scene, then bows. “Apologies for the interruption, young master. There is a letter for you.”
“Oh. Thank you,” Xingqiu says, grateful that his voice has returned to normal. Somewhat. He rubs his nose, wincing. Who knew 1000-page novels were so heavy? “You can leave it on my desk.”
“Alright. I thought you would like to know that the letter is from Inazuma.”
Xingqiu’s hand freezes.
Inazuma. A letter addressed to him from the foreign nation can only mean one thing.
“Actually, give it to me, right now,” he says, holding out his hand and snatching the letter as soon as it’s within his reach. The paper is thick, glossy, and clearly of high quality. Xingqiu would know about paper quality–he’s the second son of the Feiyun Commerce Guild, after all. On the seal of the letter is a familiar five-petaled flower, and the letter inside is stamped with the name of a location he has dreamed about for years.
“Yae Publishing House,” he whispers, almost reverently.
“I’ll take my leave now.”
Xingqiu barely registers Hongxing’s exit, too busy trying to tear open the letter without destroying the contents. He has always been a fast reader, evidenced by the pile of finished novels lying around him, but his eyes can barely focus on the words in front of him. For a moment, he’s not even sure if they’re in a different language, perhaps written in local Inazuman.
Eventually, the words unblur and he manages to decipher what they say.
The scream that subsequently echoes through the house sends Hongxing running back to Xingqiu’s room. “Young master? Young master, are you okay?”
Xingqiu’s more than okay. He’s having the best day of his life.
“A publishing house in Inazuma?” Chongyun’s eyes widen. “That’s amazing!”
“It’s not just any publishing house! It’s the same one behind The Legend of the Shattered Halberd!” Xingqiu says. Even now, several minutes after opening the letter, the words still sound surreal to him. “I can barely believe it.”
He’s the second son of the Feiyun Commerce Guild, but he’s also the kid who scribbled fantastical stories by candlelight and hid them among his bookshelves so his family would never find them. And now, his stories will be published to the world for everyone to read.
“I can!” Chongyun says, because he’s always believed in Xingqiu far more than Xingqiu has ever believed in himself. That, and he doesn’t truly understand the competitiveness of the publishing industry, but Xingqiu is grateful for his best friend’s support nonetheless. “It must be so exciting to have your greatest dream come true!”
Before Xingqiu even has time to react, he feels Chongyun pull him in for a hug. A hug. From Chongyun. Chongyun, who doesn’t usually initiate physical contact in order to keep his body temperature cool, who only ever indulges Xingqiu in the occasional high-five or friendly pat after a spar–
Xingqiu thinks he forgets how to breathe.
He’s so embarrassing. His face is heating up despite the coldness emanating from Chongyun, from the hands resting around his waist, and Archons above, he’s thankful that he didn’t inherit any blushing tendencies from his family, or he would be turning redder than a Jueyun chili right now.
If I was a fictional character, my inner monologue would be unbearable, Xingqiu silently groans, desperately trying to will these thoughts away from his hopeless, treacherous mind. But he awkwardly hugs Chongyun back, stiffly patting him on the shoulder, and hopes that it is perceived as a perfectly normal gesture of platonic male companionship.
Then Chongyun pulls away with a soft smile on his face, completely oblivious to the inner torment he just caused Xingqiu. “I’m so, so happy for you,” he sings, and the note of genuine pride in his voice makes Xingqiu break into a smile too.
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Xingqiu responds, though his mind is still swirling.
Because Chongyun is right that becoming a published author was one of Xingqiu’s greatest dreams, and it’s now becoming a reality. But there’s another dream–so improbable that it seems more like a delusion, really, than a dream–that Chongyun doesn’t know about, and Xingqiu hopes he never finds out.
Xingqiu’s not entirely sure when he became aware of it himself.
Maybe he woke up one morning, yawned, looked around his room, and was struck with the realization that he was in love with his best friend. Or maybe it only dawned on him when he was staring at Chongyun’s calm smile, so serene even at ungodly hours of the morning, from across a table at Wanmin Restaurant. Or maybe it was the day they went to Qingce Village and sat down to look at the view together, and the silence was so comfortable that for once, Xingqiu didn’t feel the need to use his words.
(Or maybe it’s something he knew all along, but fought his hardest to keep beneath the surface, never wanting to acknowledge the truth that stared back at him every time he looked in the water’s reflection.)
Even if Chongyun notices anything different, he never voices his concerns. He still takes Xingqiu’s pranks and teasing in stride, and happily agrees to spend time together if Xingqiu extends an invitation. Not much has changed, other than the small matter of Xingqiu having to live with the weight of the knowledge that he has a massive, embarrassing crush on his best friend.
So, naturally–as Xingqiu’s best friend who he has absolutely no romantic feelings for, and would never have romantic feelings for–Chongyun is the first person Xingqiu gives his finished novel manuscript to.
“It still has to undergo some revisions, obviously, but the publishing house said they really liked this version,” he says, sliding the stack of bound paper across the table. It looks plain, unassuming, and maybe a little damaged (as if a certain someone has flung it against the wall before during moments of late-night writer’s block frustration), exactly like all of his other notebooks, yet it’s the one that contains his magnum opus. Well, the most recent draft of it, anyway.
Chongyun just looks confused, his brow furrowing adorably.
Xingqiu decides to help him out. “I want you to read it!” he declares. “You can make sure there aren’t any embarrassing plot holes.”
Chongyun nods slowly. “Okay. I can do that. But why me?” He pauses, and Xingqiu notices that his fingers are playing with the edge of his shirt. “You know I’m a really slow reader.”
“I truly don’t mind. You can take all the time you need!” Xingqiu says. “I just want someone I trust to read it before it’s published to the entire world.”
“You could ask Xiangling,” Chongyun suggests, and Xingqiu’s not sure why Chongyun’s suddenly shifting in his seat awkwardly, his fingers now fidgeting with the loops on his shirt. “Or Yun Jin. Or your brother–”
Xingqiu laughs. “Don’t be silly! There’s no one I trust more than you.”
…Archons, that was definitely too blatant. Where is his subtlety? His suaveness?
“...Because you are my dearest friend, obviously, and you know me so well, and you’re the unfortunate person who has to put up with my crazy ideas the most,” he adds hastily, hoping that his laugh doesn’t sound as uncomfortable to Chongyun’s ears as it does to his. “I value your candidness far more than any grandiloquence!”
“I don’t know what that word means.” Chongyun’s voice is a little strained.
Xingqiu just wants to know what Chongyun thinks. And hey, maybe Chongyun’s feedback will even be surprisingly helpful, like the many logical errors he’s corrected in the short snippets Xingqiu has shown him.
(“How is this part possible? Weren’t they just in the mountains a few hours ago? They can’t have traveled that fast.”
“Oh, that’s correct. Let me fix that.”
“And here, he’s using his left hand, but you wrote earlier that he was holding his sword in that hand, so does he have two left hands?” “Definitely not! You’re the best.”)
So, Xingqiu adopts his best pleading expression (which Chongyun has previously described as persuasive, and Xiangling has previously described as downright horrifying). “Please, Yunyun?”
That particular childhood nickname always makes Chongyun flustered, and this time, it is no different, with Chongyun suddenly trying very hard to avoid eye contact. “Okay,” Chongyun says softly. “I’ll read it for you, but it may take me some time to finish.”
“No worries.” Xingqiu watches as Chongyun picks up the manuscript. “I hope it will not disappoint.”
The corner of Chongyun’s mouth curves up into a smile. “You could never disappoint me,” he promises him gently, and Xingqiu’s foolish heart swells up like a water bubble waiting to be popped.
Chongyun has disappeared off the face of Teyvat.
That’s somewhat of an exaggeration. But it’s been five days since Xingqiu gave Chongyun his manuscript, and somehow, he hasn’t seen his best friend once.
Of course, they’ve spent longer periods of time apart, but it isn’t usually hard for Xingqiu to find Chongyun somewhere in Liyue Harbor, or even out in the mountains. Xingqiu knows Chongyun’s favorite adventuring routes by heart, but not a single one of those locations showed the telltale signs of Chongyun passing by–defeated monsters, a layer of ice on the ground, and coolness in the air.
He really is a slow reader, he thinks, fondness welling up in him at the mental image of Chongyun spending all his time reading Xingqiu’s novel. What a dedicated friend!
However, without Chongyun to keep him company, Xingqiu is getting a little bored, almost tempted to go out and search the familiar routes again. Currently, he’s pushing a quill back and forth across his desk, watching as the individual fibers on the feather flutter with the movement of the air.
Xingqiu suddenly sits up straight. He’s a writer. To pass the time, he can write! (He’s a genius.) There are so many abandoned, half-written projects buried in his shelves that he hasn’t picked up in ages. Why not work on one of those?
There’s one in particular that Xingqiu started years ago, after an offhand comment from Yun Jin about the lack of fleshed-out character relationships in his stories. “Action and adventure are exciting, but the foundation of a well-told story is human connection,” she had said, and Xingqiu had taken it far more personally than she probably ever expected. So, he challenged himself to write a romance.
…And maybe somewhere along the way, as he simultaneously wrote the story and processed his feelings for Chongyun, those characters in the romance became suspiciously similar to him and Chongyun, and the events started modeling themselves after his own hearts’ desires. Because the easiest relationship for Xingqiu to write about and draw inspiration from has always been the one between him and Chongyun.
It was only natural, right? Besides, it doesn’t matter. No one else will ever see it.
That story is the sappiest thing Xingqiu has ever dared to write, but perhaps it’s time to revisit it and see if anything can be salvaged from it for his future works if this publishing deal goes well. Yun Jin was right–his characterization has room for improvement, as much as it pains him to admit it.
So he fishes the manuscript from behind his desk, flipping to the first page and preparing to cringe at his old work. Except the manuscript in his hands isn’t his romance story. It’s the novel he gave Chongyun.
It’s the novel he thought he gave Chongyun.
Xingqiu has a sinking feeling in his gut as he frantically sets the novel aside and rummages through his other stacks of paper, flipping each one open to see if it’s the romance story. None of them are. Notebooks fill the center of his floor as he practically turns his room upside down, yet still, he doesn’t find it.
“Archons,” he groans, falling to the floor and burying his face in his hands.
He screwed up. Colossally.
“Xiangling, my lovely friend, the greatest chef in all of Liyue, the kindest person I have ever met!” Xingqiu slams his hands down on the counter. “I need your help.”
Xiangling doesn’t look up from the stovetop, where various pots and pans are filled with a variety of ingredients. Judging by the sharp smell permeating the air and stinging his eyes, no small amount of chili pepper is involved. “What’s up?”
“I…” Xingqiu pauses, suddenly unsure of the right words to choose. If he tells her everything, she might never let him live it down.
But he really, really needs Xiangling’s help. He needs someone to confide in, or else he is going to lose it.
He hopes he won’t regret this decision for the rest of his life.
“I have feelings for Chongyun.”
Xiangling turns to look at him over her shoulder, her arms still busy stirring ingredients around in a pan. He waits for a reaction. A gasp of surprise. An excited squeal. Anything.
Instead, Xiangling nods. “Okay,” she says, like he just told her it was raining. Even that might’ve evoked a stronger reaction from her. “What do you need help with?”
Xingqiu’s mouth falls open before he can stop himself. “You’re… Not surprised?”
“Oh, right.” Xiangling closes her eyes, clears her throat, opens her eyes again (all while still tossing around her stir-fry), and says in the fakest tone Xingqiu has ever heard, “Whaaaaaaat? No way! Who could’ve seen this coming? Definitely not me, or my dad, or half of Liyue Harbor–”
His cheeks are so warm that he’s grateful he’s physically incapable of turning as red as the ribbon in Xiangling’s hair. “It wasn’t that obvious, was it?” It’s his turn to clear his throat. “Anyways. That’s not the important part.”
“Whatever you say.”
The smile on her face is far too smug for Xingqiu’s liking. He hopes the glare he shoots her is sufficiently murderous. “The problem is… I made a mistake.”
That finally gets Xiangling to pause her movements. She leans forward and waves her hand across the stove fire, and Xingqiu watches as it dwindles to a calmer, steady ring of flame. “Xingqiu admitting to a mistake? I need to sit down for this one.”
“Very funny,” Xingqiu retorts. “However… it is probably best if we sit down.”
The two of them make their way to a corner table next to the side of the restaurant, with Guoba waddling after them. “Alright, spill,” Xiangling says, resting one of her elbows on top of Guoba’s head.
So Xingqiu gets right into it. “A few days ago I got a letter from the Yae Publishing House in Inazuma telling me they were accepting one of my novels for publication. Super exciting, I know, but you can save your congratulations for later. I told Chongyun, of course. He was the first person I told. I asked him if he could read my novel, and he agreed.”
“So what’s the problem?” Xiangling asks. “Chongyun thought your novel was hot garbage, and now your ego will never recover?”
“Excuse you,” Xingqiu huffs. “No. The problem is that I didn’t give Chongyun my novel, because I accidentally gave him something else!”
Xiangling cocks her head to the side, clearly waiting for him to elaborate. Xingqiu buries his head in his hands.
“One of the side projects I was writing was, uh, a self-indulgent romance novel,” he mumbles through his fingers. “The protagonist is based on me. It doesn’t really have any plot. It’s mostly about how the protagonist is… uh… in love with his exorcist best friend.”
Several things happen at once.
Guoba spews a burst of fire from his mouth, and it narrowly shoots past Xingqiu’s head, nearly singeing his eyebrows. Xiangling throws her head backward and laughs so loudly that she nearly falls off her seat. She also slams the table so hard that Xingqiu swears he sees a crack appear in the wood.
“Seriously?” he hisses at Guoba. “Are you laughing at me too?” The creature does not dignify him with a response, but the slight wobbling of his head seems to indicate that he’s having trouble holding it together.
This is the worst day of Xingqiu’s life. As if the humiliation wasn’t enough, now he’s being laughed at by Xiangling’s strange animal-creature companion. His legs can’t even reach the floor when he hangs onto the railing, and he has the audacity to laugh at Xingqiu?
“I can’t believe,” Xiangling says between wheezing laughs, “that you inserted yourself into a novel just to write about your massive crush on Chongyun.”
Xingqiu opens his mouth to defend himself, then realizes he can’t. She’s not wrong. That’s exactly what he did.
“Now, you don’t know what to do, and you want my help,” Xiangling summarizes.
“Actually, I have a plan,” he says. He may only have come up with it after pacing his room 65 times, but he has no better options for now. “You just need to follow along so we can stop this crisis before it gets worse.”
“What’s the plan, genius boy?”
He lowers his voice. “Step one: we go to Chongyun’s house. Step two: you set it on fire.”
Guoba spews another burst of fire. Xingqiu can’t tell if it’s out of shock, or if he’s on board with the plan.
“You–” Xiangling breaks off to shake her head. “I can’t believe I have to say this to you, but I am not burning Chongyun’s house to the ground!”
“It’s my only hope!”
“You’re just being dramatic!”
“How else am I supposed to destroy all the paper in his possession?” An idea occurs to him. “Fine. If you won’t help me, I’ll… flood his house instead.”
“Xingqiu,” Xiangling says, her tone indicating she has heard enough of this conversation. “I will not be committing arson, and you will not be turning Chongyun’s house into Dihua Marsh. Are we clear?”
Xingqiu sighs. She’s right. As much as he feels like his life is over, causing property damage won’t truly help. And he would never do anything that puts Chongyun or his family in danger.
Is this it, then? Chongyun will read his novel and realize Xingqiu’s true feelings, and years of friendship will come to an end. All because of Xingqiu’s inability to tell Chongyun how he truly feels.
Xingqiu can read and write a million martial arts novels about the bravest, most chivalrous heroes accomplishing great deeds, but he’ll remain nothing but a coward when it comes to his feelings for his best friend.
“Honestly, Chongyun isn’t the most perceptive when it comes to feelings,” Xiangling says, “especially when it concerns you. Are you sure he’ll notice?”
“Xiangling, you don’t understand. It had no subtlety.” Xingqiu hides his face in his hands again. “I literally wrote lines like, ‘He’s the greatest friend I could ever have, but I wish we could be so much more.’ And, ‘If he’s the one with excess yang energy, why do I feel warm inside when he smiles?’ Then there was that entire page where I described his hands…”
When he lifts his head, Xiangling is looking at him with an expression of obvious pity.
“Yeeesh. That is bad.” When Xingqiu smacks her arm, she protests, “Hey! You said so yourself!”
If Xingqiu had any semblance of dignity left, he’d be insulted. “I’d like to think my writing is still of some quality, even if it’s all about how I want to kiss my best friend!”
They bicker about this for a while, as they tend to do, but eventually, Xingqiu sinks so low in his seat and his expression is so despondent that Xiangling must take pity on him.
“You have a lot of expectations of how Chongyun will react,” she muses. “You think he’s going to recoil in disgust, or shock, or betrayal, and you think he’s going to think differently of you.”
“Not helping, Xiangling.”
“But have you truly put yourself in Chongyun’s shoes to figure out how he would react to this? How would he perceive it? How would he feel?”
“I think it’s clear how he feels,” he laments.
“For someone who reads so much, you can be so dense,” Xiangling says cheerily. “I know it’ll take a while to get through to your head. But just think about it, okay?”
Much to Xingqiu’s displeasure, Yun Jin also has no reaction when Xingqiu tells her about his dilemma.
“It looked like you were still figuring it out yourself, so I never said anything,” she says, lifting her cup of tea to her mouth. Xingqiu is really beginning to question how the entirety of Liyue Harbor knew about his crush on Chongyun. Surely he wasn’t that obvious. Xiangling and Yun Jin must be abnormally perceptive.
“I don’t know what to do, Yun Jin,” he confesses. “Xiangling suggested that Chongyun might not react the way I expect him to, but that still doesn’t solve any of this. How do I undo the damage I’ve done?”
Yun Jin sets down the teacup. “Now, now. There’s no easy way to undo this. But there is something you can do.”
“What?” Xingqiu groans.
“You could be honest with him.” Yun Jin stares at him, her gaze so intent that Xingqiu suddenly feels the urge to look elsewhere, anywhere but her strikingly red eyes. “Embrace your feelings. Tell Chongyun the truth.”
The truth?
He imagines the words spilling from his mouth. You’re more than a friend to me. I think I want to spend the rest of my life with you. He imagines Chongyun recoiling, a look of disgust washing over his face, and turning away so he never has to see Xingqiu’s face again.
No. Chongyun, his dear Chongyun, would never do that to him. It would be worse. Chongyun would smile uncomfortably and tell him, I’m sorry, Xingqiu, but I don’t feel the same way, but we can remain friends, but the hours they spent together would become filled with empty silences and awkward almosts, and the friendship they had built together would melt away.
“I-I can’t do that,” he protests.
She clicks her tongue. “Do you have any other choice?”
He falls silent.
Yun Jin reaches across the table to pat Xingqiu’s arm gently. “At worst, he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings. That becomes a reality you have to live with, but at the very least, you gave him the honesty he deserved. You were true to yourself. That in itself is a feat to be proud of, especially for storytellers like us. Writing may come easily to us, but we must learn to be comfortable with sharing our most vulnerable thoughts and feelings with the world.”
“And at best?” Xingqiu dares to ask.
“Well,” Yun Jin says, and her eyes seem to twinkle, “you wrote a whole novel about that, didn’t you?”
Under the waning light of the sunset, along one of Chihu Rock’s quieter paths, Xingqiu finally spots a head of pale blue hair. He spent the last ten days (yes, he counted) wandering in and out of the city, searching for his best friend, even going as far as to knock on his door. Chongyun has managed to evade him until now.
“Chongyun!” he calls, far too loudly. Chongyun freezes beneath the shade of a tree, but at least he turns around to face Xingqiu.
His blank expression gives very little away. Surely he’s read the novel by now and knows all about Xingqiu’s feelings. It occurs to Xingqiu that he has no idea what to say. Hi. Sorry you had to find out via my own prose, but I’m in love with you!
Maybe if he’s extremely lucky, Chongyun struggled too much to decipher his handwriting, and never got beyond the first sentence? No, that’s impossible. If anyone can comprehend his paper scratches as proper words, it’s his best friend.
“...How are you?” he asks, closing the distance between them with quick steps before Chongyun can dash off. He stops himself from invading Chongyun’s personal space like he normally would, though, and stands a respectful distance away, hoping his inner turmoil isn’t visible on his face.
“Good.”
Oh, no. Chongyun doesn’t meet his eyes. It’s already becoming awkward. Xingqiu wants to fade into the nearest wall.
“I haven’t seen you in so long!” He fakes a painful laugh that must sound even faker to Chongyun than it does to him. “What have you been up to?”
This time, Chongyun meets his gaze, but his expression is dark. “Reading your novel.”
On impulse, Xingqiu says, “It really took you ten days–” then instantly shuts his mouth, because that’s not the point here, and why is he making this even worse for himself, what is he doing, “–never mind, sorry, that’s not important. What’s important is… So… I can explain… Uhh… My novel… That I wrote…”
It turns out he cannot, in fact, explain.
“Xingqiu,” Chongyun says, and his voice sounds like a stone scraping across ice. “Am I a joke to you?”
The words feel like cold water splashing onto Xingqiu’s face.
“What?” falls from his mouth, because his head is spinning so fast he can’t catch up to the words.
“Was all of this a joke?” Chongyun asks, pointing to the familiar manuscript that Xingqiu has somehow just realized is in his other hand. He’s never seen Chongyun’s face set in such rigid, angry lines before, his clenched fists shaking uncontrollably. “Because this is a lot of effort for one joke, Xingqiu.”
“No, no, I–”
“But this time, you went too far.” Chongyun’s voice shakes, and for the first time, Xingqiu sees the way he’s blinking rapidly, the unnatural shine in his eyes, and somehow feels even colder than before. “To make a mockery of my feelings like this… I knew you were a prankster, and I always brushed it aside, but I never thought you would be this cruel.”
Xingqiu didn’t disgust Chongyun with his actions.
He hurt him.
Which is even worse.
“I have a massive crush on you,” Xingqiu blurts out.
Chongyun’s entire body tenses up before Xingqiu can register what he’s just said. For a second, neither of them are able to move. Chongyun shatters the silence by looking away and scoffing. “You’re still trying to joke–”
“I’m not joking!” Xingqiu yells, no longer caring that they’re technically in a public place. “I know I play stupid pranks and make stupid remarks and don’t take many things seriously. But I’ve never been more serious about anything else. Anyone else. You have always been too good for me, and I’m just an idiot, and I’m so sorry for hurting you.”
Chongyun’s entire expression has shifted. Now, he stares at Xingqiu.
Xingqiu can’t decipher the new expression, but he needs to say more to fill the silence. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Chongyun. I’ve never, ever taken you for granted, and I hate that my foolish, immature actions ever made you feel otherwise. I understand if you want nothing to do with me after this because I’m an awful person and an even worse friend, but I hope you know that it wasn’t to mock you. You deserve so much better than that.”
Chongyun is still silent.
Xingqiu opens his mouth again. “I truly–”
A hand comes up to stop him. As Chongyun lowers it, he shakes his head. “This is a strange way to confess,” he says shakily, gesturing towards the manuscript.
“I didn’t mean for you to see it.” Xingqiu looks down. “It was a side project I started purely to indulge myself. I never thought I’d get them mixed up when giving you my actual manuscript…”
“You really are an idiot.”
“Given what I’ve just done, that’s very fair–”
“–Yet I still have a massive crush on you, too.”
Xingqiu’s head shoots up just in time to see the sheepish smile on Chongyun’s face. “Pardon?” His brain has abandoned him to go swimming in the ocean. “This… isn’t some kind of reverse prank, is it?”
Rolling his eyes, Chongyun says, “Does that seem like something I would do?”
“Fair point,” Xingqiu concedes in a small voice. Then, finally, it hits him. “Wait. You. Me. Crush. Oh. Oh. Wow.”
“Yes.” Chongyun is turning a shade of flushed pink that usually indicates he consumed a Jueyun chili or walked through a gust of warm wind. “I’ve liked you for a while now, I just…”
“Didn’t want to ruin our friendship?” Xingqiu guesses, and Chongyun nods.
“Exactly. I never thought you would reciprocate my feelings, and I didn’t want you to see me differently.”
Xingqiu exhales. “Story of my life.”
Chongyun raises an eyebrow and lifts the manuscript to eye level. “Isn’t this the story of your life?”
“Shut up,” Xingqiu says, but then Chongyun laughs, and the sound is so lovely that he laughs, and he still doesn’t know where this leaves them, but for the moment, he’s sharing a laugh with the person he cares about most, so surely, everything will turn out to be okay as long as Chongyun is by his side.
“For all the time I spent on that novel, I never came up with an ending,” Xingqiu admits, before grinning. “I suppose that was for the best. Now, we can write the ending together.”
“Oh, stop,” Chongyun begs, covering his face with his hands, but Xingqiu can still see the pink flush returning. It’s adorable. He’s adorable. “You can’t just say things like that, Xingqiu!”
“You seem to like them,” Xingqiu can’t resist teasing, but it’s his turn to cover his face when Chongyun lowers his hands and looks at him earnestly.
Chongyun’s smile is soft but stretches impossibly wide across his face as he says, “I like everything about you. I always have.”
That steals Xingqiu’s breath again. Since he can’t find it in himself to look away, he reaches for Chongyun’s free hand. It’s cold to the touch. “I thought I was the writer,” he mutters. “Yet here you are, flustering me with your words.”
“Yes, well…” Chongyun squeezes his hand gently. The surface of his skin is still cool, but the gesture fills Xingqiu with warmth. “I’m still no good at words. But if you’d let me… I would really like to see where this story goes next.”
“Our story,” Xingqiu affirms. Chongyun nods and leans forward to rest his forehead on Xingqiu’s shoulder.
It’s their story now. Xingqiu no longer has to write it on his own. The two of them will shape it together.
That reality fills him with more happiness than any fictional plot he could ever imagine.
Chongyun clears his throat. “Also, I never knew you liked my hands so much.”
“I’ve given you too much power,” Xingqiu splutters. All Chongyun does is laugh and pull him closer.