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Chongyun firmly believes that there are universal laws. Equations the world abides by, common truths that, despite not having any real evidence to prove their factuality, are simply real. They simply //are// because the universe said so. And it makes sense to Chongyun, not just because he was raised to believe as such, but because his travels have taught him just the same. That water is a life source for all living beings, gentle and cool and crisp. But too much and it is dangerous. That the sun is good and warm, and the snow is cold and bitter. To do harm is evil, and to protect and nurture is honorable.
He thinks that perhaps it is these laws in which the greater beings of Celestia followed to carve Teyvat from the earth. That, or perhaps such laws were already in place prior to the Archons’ rule. It’s what makes Chongyun respect the Seven, as beings who abide by truths and laws. Ancient texts speak of their benevolence and great wisdom in guiding their people. Voicing this to Xingqiu makes him scoff, rolling his eyes and saying that there’s probably more to it than that.
“I do not understand why we should give all respect to the divine if all they have is a rulebook for us to follow,” quips Xingqiu, book in hand and mouth crooked in a frown. “Should we not individually discover ourselves and find our own morals? Could there not be a possibility that the Archons are wrong?”
Chongyun just shakes his head to that. Too philosophical for him. But he supposes Xingqiu has always been a bit of an anomaly, doing and saying things that always seem to be out of the ordinary.
Xingqiu alone has written and rewritten laws Chongyun previously thought were set in stone. Xingqiu, from such a young age, had thrust himself into Chongyun’s life so abruptly that it was as if the entire world shifted on its axis. With a beaming grin and outstretched hands, Xingqiu would launch himself at Chongyun. A tug on his sleeve, an arm looped over the thin of Chongyun’s young shoulders. Chongyun never spoke much as a child, his mouth sealed shut out of shyness and so he could never really muster the strength to deny his new friend.
What used to be solo endeavors for Chongyun shifted to become endeavors done by Xingqiu’s side. From daily tasks, to free time spent outdoors. Where once, Chongyun would simply go out on his own for an expedition, he now arrives at the Feiyun Commerce Guild’s doorstep the morning of.
The weather in Qiaoying village is reported to be quite well this week, Xingqiu would say. Or, There’s a new shipment of teas just imported this morning, let us indulge as we listen to another of Liu Xiansheng’s stories. No matter the occasion, Chongyun will nod; the implications are there — I would like to accompany you, and Chongyun always says yes.
From a very early age, Chongyun learns that having Xingqiu by his side is just another rule that fate had laid out for him.
It goes as such: if Chongyun is doing anything, whether it be going out for lunch, taking on an exorcism commission, or visiting Yaoguang Shoal for a dip in the ocean, adding Xingqiu to the mix will make it all the more interesting. Certain factors, when brought together, will always produce a specific outcome, and Xingqiu is exponentially unpredictable. Any activity can become an adventure as long as Xingqiu is involved. Just another law written by the universe.
Too much yang energy and whatever ghost or spirit Chongyun is hunting will run for the high hills before he can even sense it. A new day, a new lead, another failure. Again and again, trying to find a new variable, to break the pattern. Some laws, Chongyun comes to learn dejectedly, are rather unfavorable.
Xingqiu has none of it. It shocks Chongyun a little to see how passionate Xingqiu is about his career. How determined Xingqiu is to convince Chongyun that he will achieve his goal one day. Whenever he comes back to the harbour, head hanging in defeat, Xingqiu is always there, sympathetic at his side, a warm hand on his shoulder trailing down to his elbow. Xingqiu’s hand will always cup Chongyun’s own dearly, a firm and comforting embrace with nothing more than their fingers. It’s easy to predict what Xingqiu will say next: “Let’s get something to eat, my treat.”
And so they do, because that is what the universe wills of them.
Sunny afternoons lead to finding comfort in the coolness of Xingqiu’s bedroom, the outdoors far too scalding for Chongyun. He will filter through his bag, organizing popsicles and talismans while Xingqiu lounges on his chaise, book in hand. Sometime’s Xingqiu will read to him and Chongyun’s eyes will fall closed, lulled into rest by the sweet timbre of a familiar voice. He is lucky, sometimes, and Xingqiu will pat his thighs, motioning him to lie down. Though he can’t explain it, Chongyun enjoys it most when he can listen to Xingqiu read while resting his head in the comfort of a soft lap.
Xingqiu once nagged Chongyun to go to the beach with him during a particularly warm day, insisting the water would be refreshing. A half broken shell had hidden itself in the sand. It stuck out at a point neither of them noticed, and ultimately cut the bottom of Xingqiu’s foot. Chongyun had to carry him home that day, and did so despite rolling his eyes and sighing at how overdramatic his companion was being.
“There is no way I can walk in these conditions,” he insisted, gesturing to the bloody scratch on his sole. “Just look, I’m completely crippled!”
A scratch was all it really was, despite the pool of red staining the sand. Gravity pulls blood further down the body, causing an excess amount to be shed. They both knew this, but Chongyun decided to humor him anyway. He bandages Xingqiu’s foot with the extra cloth he keeps in his bag, then bends over so Xingqiu can crawl onto his back.
“Onwards, my noble stallion!” Xingqiu gloats, pointing towards the Liyue harbour.
“Don’t you think everyone will think this is a bit childish for someone like you?” Chongyun huffs, bending his knees a little before trudging forward. The sand is slippery between his toes.
“Maybe,” his friend giggles, and he rests his chin on Chongyun’s shoulder. His breath tickles his ear. “But I don’t think that matters right now.”
“You can fix small wounds with your Vision, why not just use that?” Chongyun counters. It’s a bit late, now, to be asking that obvious question, but maybe that’s why he’s saying it now; he already knows the answer.
He feels the way Xingqiu’s smile pulls against his ear, and something about it is infectious. “Because that takes all the fun out of it!”
And that’s all it is, really. They’re fifteen and just having a little fun. Maybe that’s why it doesn’t matter, because they are still children, in a way. Their days are spent doing anything and everything and nothing at all. It doesn’t matter, as long as they’re together.
Chongyun does not like Jueyun chilis. He does not like spicy foods, and this, he deems as one of the many laws that govern his life. The effect spice has on him is unpleasant, always racking his body in a thick sheen of sweat and his head going foggy like some murky fever dream. This will not stop Xingqiu from consistently pushing him into that Archons forsaken state, however.
From trying to urge him to go to the hot springs together, or fooling him into eating yet another of Xiangling’s odd concoctions. Whether fortunately or unfortunately (he still doesn’t quite know) Chongyun has grown accustomed to his friend’s antics. And as annoying as they may be, he’s allowed them to continue for some bizarre reason. Xingqiu’s influence on Chongyun is a unique one, for sure.
He hates the gap in his memory, fears the damages or embarrassing things he could’ve said and done under the influence of yang. But Chongyun, no matter how hard he tries, cannot regret the feeling of waking up to fingers carding through his hair, his cheek cushioned on the soft warmth of Xingqiu’s lap. It shouldn’t make his face flush — he should be angry with Xingqiu for doing something so reckless and selfish as going against Chongyun’s wishes, and yet…
A gentle smile, slightly crooked and imperfect. “There you are,” Xingqiu will say, words soft and floaty like clouds at sunset. Chongyun will just stare, captivated by the way navy hair curls just beneath the lobe of his ears. Xingqiu’s jaw has become sharper, he notices for no particular reason. And his lips have a sheen that makes Chongyun believe he is wearing some sort of gloss. There’s a beauty mark sitting just beneath his right eye…
Maybe his tolerance isn’t so bizarre after all.
And so, quietly, passively, the laws of the universe are broken and restitched back together.
It is evening. The wind is something delicate and sweet at the cusp of summer and autumn, and the air is still warm. It isn’t quite enough to allow a dip in the pools, but they take off their shoes anyway and tickle the waters with their toes. Chongyun watches as the tiny ripples scare away the minnows. Their scales glint silver in the dying sun.
Xingqiu heaves a sigh next to him, leaning back onto his hands and brushing his fingers against Chongyun’s own. His nails are clipped short, fingertips blushed pink and smoothed by the grit of sand from when they went looking for crabs. Chongyun looks at him, eyeing the slope of his jaw, the young, supple softness of his throat. For reasons he cannot name, he feels contemplative and hyper aware.
Xingqiu’s face is clean and finely sculpted, shoulders rounded and still broadening with maturity. He could be sharp, imposing. Chongyun has seen as much when he sets his stature and speaks in business, tongue flickering harsh speech. But Xingqiu is not that person when he is with Chongyun. The sun pours over his features, washing his skin in orange and yellow and all Chongyun can see is a boy of sixteen who still clings to his childhood. He doesn’t know why, but he just stares.
Xingqiu’s eyes flick over to see Chongyun looking at him. “What?” he says.
A shake of blue curls, and for some reason, he blushes. “Nothing.”
This close, Chongyun can smell him. The silk flower and lavender oils he uses to smooth his skin, dabbed gently behind his ears and wrists. The sweetness of Luhua’s waters dribbling down his calves. Beneath it all is something unique to him, like crushed almonds and fresh rain on cobblestone. It’s a familiar scent Chongyun encounters whenever he enters Xingqiu’s room, and even more so when they share his bed, the satin of his sheets overwhelmingly smelling of him.
Xingqiu’s arm shifts, body turning to face his companion more, and Chongyun notices that the top two buttons of Xingqiu’s shirt are unclamped. Through the gap, he can see the bend of collarbones, the sweep of a lithe throat as it bobs with a swallow.
For some reason Chongyun cannot name, his tongue feels heavy in his mouth, dry like sandpaper. He wants to open his mouth, say something. Say what, he doesn’t know, but in that moment, it doesn’t seem to matter. Xingqiu is looking at him, like he has done a million times before, but it feels different, the intensity in his gaze. They are closer now, heads dipped lower as some unknown force drifts them together. Or maybe it’s not unknown, since the universe always seemed to want them close together. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Chongyun thinks Xingqiu has the most beautiful eyelashes.
The world shifts beneath their feet, infinitesimally small.
A tilt of his head, a hand sneaking closer to pink blushed fingertips. He’s not quite sure what’s happening before it does, eyes fluttering closed on instinct when Xingqiu draws too near. Tentative lips touch Chongyun’s own. They are warm and chapped, tasting sweetly of the apples they plucked earlier. Warmer yet is the sensation that pools in his belly, a pleasure that seeps under his skin and shocks him with the sudden desire of more. He leans in closer, blindly chasing after that addictive feeling, thoughts briefly turning to mush when he hears Xingqiu’s soft gasp.
It is also that sound which grounds him in reality once again and Chongyun jerks away, horrified. What had he done?
His tongue still sits dead in his mouth, an apology caught somewhere between his chest and throat. I’m sorry. Blearily, Xingqiu blinks his eyes, slow at first and then a second time, sharp with realization. The way Xingqiu’s face shifts — cheeks falling slack into neutrality, a careful blankness spreading — terrifies Chongyun even more. He’s on his feet before Chongyun even has the chance to move.
“I— I have to go,” Xingqiu says hurriedly, so fast the words slur together. He scoops up his shoes, his socks. He is gone, then.
The grass is flat where he was sitting, Chongyun’s hand cold where Xingqiu’s fingers tickled his own. The lump in his throat is finally swallowed down as he watches Xingqiu’s figure disappear.
He expects Xingqiu to avoid him after that. Chongyun tries, out of respect, to not impair Xingqiu’s studies anymore like he once did, carefully deciding to skirt around the busy hub surrounding the Feiyun Commerce Guild. Of course Xingqiu, like the anomaly he is, turns up anyway.
“Chongyun!” He hears behind him, and then jumps at the unexpected arm slung over his shoulder. It is as if nothing had happened, the fresh smell of pressed ink and pages coming to him as Xingqiu shoves a book into his face. He prattles on about the story he had read the night prior, but Chongyun can barely keep up, too stunned and wary.
Chongyun almost believes it all to have been a dream — the shy touch of their pinkies, the warmth of Xingqiu’s breath on his cheek. An all too intimate happening between boys who were just friends.
But it’s as if the skin of his lips comes alive as he looks at Xingqiu, nerves tingling with the ghost of the kiss, and Chongyun knows it was real. Forgive me, he wants to say, it was a mistake. Those words seem negligent now; it is obvious Xingqiu does not wish to speak of what occurred, emotions and feelings he did not want to deal with swept under the rug.
It’s a little painful. Chongyun flushes with shame, nodding absentmindedly to whatever his friend is saying. At least this proves Xingqiu does not resent him.
But perhaps, the kiss was not favorable to him, either.
It’s best, he surmises, to pretend like nothing happened, especially with Xingqiu so eager to continue things like normal. And though they laugh and they play and complain of their responsibilities like they always do, the shift between them is felt. Or, at the very least, felt by Chongyun. And in truth, it’s not easy pretending at all.
He stares at Xingqiu a little more now. He doesn’t mean to, not really, but it happens. Xingqiu will laugh and Chongyun will watch, seeing how far the corner of his mouth leaps up to widen his cheeks. His eyes trace the bridge of Xingqiu’s nose, recognizing its small bump at the end, following the curve of his face to pinpoint a stray beauty mark. Xingqiu’s head will dip close to his own as he whispers something to him, and Chongyun’s breath will catch as he notices the dark kohl outlining amber eyes — and he finds it, well, attractive. Xingqiu will take his hand and Chongyun will marvel at how soft they are, smooth and cool like the stones they find at the bottom of streams. There’s a bump on the fourth finger of Xingqiu’s right hand, right where his pen rests when he writes. A callus formed from poetry and prose. These are not things a good friend would hyperfocus on, and Chongyun knows it.
Shame burns a deep pit in his stomach, and he feels it color his face. It’s even more undesirable when Xingqiu takes notice, always pinching at his cheeks and laughing and teasing which just has Chongyun blushing even more.
“You’re always so pink, A’Yun,” Xingqiu remarks one day, looking at him so intensely it has Chongyun squirming.
“It’s — I’m just warm,” he stutters out, taking a step back. The nickname has his heart skipping more than he would’ve liked.
Xingqiu matches his step and uses his hand to lift up the baby blue curls atop Chongyun’s forehead, pressing his palm there. “Wow, you’re burning up!” His hand goes to brush against Chongyun’s exposed shoulder, hoodie having been abandoned at home. “You’re even pink here, too. You’re not having an episode again, are you?”
Always with the closeness, it was with Xingqiu.
“I, uh…” He stares at Xingqiu’s hand on his shoulder a moment, swallows the pit in his throat, and then brushes it off before he does something stupid like place his own hand on top of it and lace their fingers together. “No. Not an episode.”
It’s hard, really, because Xingqiu’s lips always curl upwards in that devilishly attractive way right before he says something flirty, and it sends Chongyun’s stomach dropping. He’ll say something, do something, and Chongyun blushes relentlessly each time, wry smile tweaking his own mouth as he laughs sarcastically to hide just how affected he is by those words — (Xingqiu never really means any of what he says) — and Xingqiu will snicker at his plight, sidle up just that much closer and top it all off with a silly grin and playing with Chongyun’s fingers. Always teasing, always poking and prodding and making Chongyun feel a little bit too much. It has his heart doing a few more sumersaults than necessary.
Xingqiu is constantly teasing, constantly leaning in. He is there nearly every day, perched at Chongyun’s side and following him wherever as if he didn’t have anything else more important to do, nowhere else more important to be. It’s a dangerous thing, the amount of hope that slowly grows in Chongyun, the amount of feelings he allows himself to feel.
It’s like tentative dance, and Xingqiu is the lead, drawing the two of them close, close, closer. A step and a slide and a spin. But he stops just before they can trip over one another, drops Chongyun’s hands. Carefully and surely, Xingqiu never fails to flit away just out reach, and it leaves Chongyun expecting something more, something else to happen.
Nothing else happens, though, of course.
He’s not quite sure how long it’s been since that one evening at the Luhua pools, but the memories of that day are like phantoms on his skin — sensations that tingle across his palm into his fingers. A desire to reach out and grasp it, hold it, and prove to himself it was real. He’s older now, though not by much. Seventeen had seemed a daunting age to be, but as he finds out, he still doesn’t know much and there’s a lot more to learn. He’s on the cusp of adulthood, but in the end just a boy attempting to solve the universe’s equation on love.
He must be doing something right, though, because Xingqiu hasn’t pushed him away. It hurts, admittedly, when Chongyun is referred to as a “friend.” But he can’t find it in himself to be sad knowing he’s Xingqiu’s best friend — a title that proves he is at least something special in his eyes. Xingqiu brings him close — cradles his hand, supports him indefinitely, and smiles at Chongyun something lovely each day. It is not something he would ever risk losing.
And so, the sun will rise every morning, the moon will shine at night, and the universe deems Chongyun and Xingqiu as sworn companions. No supernovas to destroy the world today, Chongyun thinks.
It is a bittersweet and aching thing to love in silence.
It’s in the quieter moments when it’s just the two of them that Chongyun finds he is able to drift a little closer. It is nighttime and they’re in Xingqiu’s room again. The sun has long since sunk below the horizon but they stay up, Xingqiu reading aloud his latest story. His voice is sleep-soft, gentle and lulling and Chongyun cannot stop himself from tilting his head, cheek resting against Xingqiu’s shoulder. He studies the blue nail polish Xingqiu had applied on a whim two nights ago, already chipping due to picking at it.
It is not an uncommon occurrence, staying overnight here instead of in his own room. Chongyun does not dislike his own home, or his own bed, or the aunties and uncles who live in the compound with him, but there is a deeper sense of closeness that comes to him when staying with Xingqiu. A vulnerability that comes from sharing the same bed, entrusting one another with unspoken secrets. Of simple acts like falling asleep to the sound of a heartbeat against his ear, a honeyed voice reverberating through his body.
It’s a precious sort of thing, when Xingqiu rises and stretches his arms up over his head, yawning. Chongyun thinks he says something about wanting to sleep. The book snaps shut and Chongyun blinks blearily, watching as Xingqiu’s shirt slips up over his stomach, revealing the slight curve of his waist. The candlelight dips into the olive of Xingqiu’s skin when he reaches to take the shirt off completely, yellows and oranges cascading the valley of his spine and shoulders. There’s a freckle, Chongyun notes, hidden just above Xingqiu’s left hip. It disappears as a white sleep tunic covers it.
The room is swathed in the covers of night soon after, the both of them under the sheets. A separate, thicker blanket covers Xingqiu where Chongyun is left with a thin sheet, given that his body runs warm. He lays on his back, staring up at the ceiling for a while and moving his feet around, contemplating the soft, velvety feel of silken sheets on his skin.
He’s about to drift off to sleep, eyelids heavy when he hears stirring. There’s a tiny tug on his sleeve, and cracking open an eye proves Xingqiu has rolled over to look at him, hands tucked up under his chin in a way Chongyun had always found cute, but would never admit aloud.
“Chongyun,” he says simply. There’s a slight wrinkle in his brow, and Chongyun can vaguely make out the movement of Xingqiu’s tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek, signs there was something weighing on his mind and he wished to voice them.
“Hm?”
“We should go on an adventure tomorrow,” Xingqiu suggests, toothy grin showing white in the dark.
Chongyun turns his head more fully to face him. “What kind?”
“A noble one,” he says. “We can pick up an extra commission tomorrow from the guild. You don’t have any work, do you?”
Chongyun raises a suspicious eyebrow. “No, but your family hasn’t assigned any work for you tomorrow?”
Xingqiu scoffs, waving a hand. “Nevermind any of that. The story I’m reading has left me inspired, and the only way to satisfy this motivation is to act upon it.”
“You might feel differently tomorrow,” Chongyun points out. “It’s late. And we’ll have to wake up early to sneak out; you won’t want to get out of bed.”
“I’ll be up!” Xingqiu rebuffs. “And if I’m not, just drag me out.”
Chongyun rolls his eyes. “Yeah right. You’ll just use your tiredness as an excuse for a free piggyback ride.”
Xingqiu’s lips twist into a pout and Chongyun fails spectacularly at not following the movement with his eyes. “Oh come on, I’m not that unbearable.”
Chongyun gives him a deadpanned look.
“How rude. You must be quite the masochist if that’s what you think and yet you still hang around me.” Xingqiu gives him a devilish grin. “I must be quite special to you then, A’Yun?”
There he goes saying it again. A’Yun. A term of endearment. It’s candy to his ears and his heart aches in an addicting sort of way. Chongyun’s breath rattles in his chest and he does his best to feign nonchalance as he glances back at the ceiling.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he settles on, since it seems like a safe response. He only realizes after that it sounds a bit cocky — dare he say flirtatious — but he doesn’t try to amend it. His tongue feels too thick in his mouth and he hopes the room is dark enough to hide the flames in his cheeks.
Xingqiu sighs, “I’m serious, though, Chongyun. About tomorrow. We should explore.”
Chongyun hums. “Where?”
Xingqiu ponders this for a moment, and out of the corner of his eye, Chongyun can see the thumb and index finger Xingqiu brings to his lips. “Hm… I think the plains just outside Wangshu Inn might be nice, or perhaps the ruins around Lisha? I’d like to reenact all of the scenes in this novel!”
Now Chongyun wouldn’t say he was hyper focused on the book Xingqiu was reading that night, since sleep weighed heavy on his eyelids — and it still did, in truth — but he knew enough to frown. “I thought this story was a romance, though?”
“Well, yes,” Xingqiu concedes. “But the action sequences were thrilling, wouldn’t you agree?” There’s a special sort of wonder in his eyes, bright and lovely even in dimness of the bedroom. Perhaps this, Chongyun thinks, is what it’s like to see stars in someone’s eyes.
Said stars fizzle out not a moment later, however, and are replaced with that signature deviousness that comes with one of Xingqiu’s smirks.
“But perhaps we could reenact the romantic scenes as well, if that’s what you really want to do.” He takes Chongyun’s hand as he says this, interlocking their fingers in a teasing sort of way that really shouldn’t make Chongyun’s heart skip. “I could sweep you off your feet and save you from a nasty horde of hilichurls.” Xingqiu puts a finger to his lips as he considers, “Or maybe you could be the one doing that for me; you could probably romance me a lot better than the main character did with her love interest. And besides, I like watching you practice your forms.”
Chongyun nearly chokes. What… what does that mean?! Swallowing proves to be a much more difficult task than it should be when he opens his mouth to speak.
Before he is given the chance to respond (not that he’d have even known what to say), Xingqiu continues. “What are your thoughts on romance?”
“What do you mean?” Chongyun nearly wheezes with the effort.
“In the book, I mean. The girl, her feelings,” Xingqiu says. “The journey the main character makes, and the man she meets and —“ he stumbles a bit, frustrated. “I guess what I mean to ask is about the love plot. The romance between the woman and the man she meets. Though I do enjoy the fight sequences, I think I’d have written the romance differently if this were my story.”
“What about it is odd?” Chongyun asks, still not following.
“Does it feel realistic to you?” Xingqiu is looking at him intensely, and though he couldn’t understand why, Chongyun had a feeling his answer would matter.
Chongyun thinks for a moment, brow furrowing in thought. There wasn’t too much about the story he remembered too clearly.
He decides to answer honestly, “I don’t see why it wouldn’t be. Romance happens a lot in stories.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Xingqiu shakes his head. That wasn’t the answer he wanted. “I meant — the girl, she goes on this journey, and then suddenly falls in love after she’s saved from a group of bandits. The man reciprocates her love and they have their happy ending. Is that — I mean, do you think that can even happen?”
Chongyun shrugs. “I’m not sure. Maybe. I don’t really pay attention to that I guess.”
“Is it even possible? Falling in love with someone so suddenly?”
When did the conversation take this turn? Chongyun wonders to himself. He realizes then that Xingqiu has yet to let go of his hand, their fingers still interlocked and resting soft atop the sheets between them. Xingqiu’s thumb, seemingly absentmindedly, brushes across Chongyun’s knuckles.
In an act of fragile bravery, Chongyun reciprocates, thumb rolling delicately over the curl of Xingqiu’s wrist. He touches him just as gently, as if he could impress into his skin all the emotion he feels where words have failed him.
Quietly, a bit jaggedly, he says, “I don’t know.”
Xingqiu frowns more, mouth quirking to the side in annoyance. Wrong answer, again.
“I — I mean,” Chongyun fumbles to amend himself. “Maybe it’s a little unrealistic. I wouldn’t really know. But I think developing a real relationship probably takes more time.”
“Hm,” is all Xingqiu says, brow furrowing further, “Maybe everyone just loves differently.” Then a grin steals his face and Xingqiu laughs a little, “Like how Xiangling is always making us food for free. Or how Hu Tao is always giving us discounts for our future coffins.”
“Gaming invited me to his next Lion Dance,” Chongyun offers with a smile. “He said I should bring you with me. He has a new tea cake he’d like to share with us.”
Xingqiu matches his grin. “And Yun Jin gave me two extra tickets for her next show.”
“So did Xinyan, but I’ll be honest and say I’m not sure if I want to accept the front row seats… it might be a little overwhelming for me.”
“It’s a date, then!” Xingqiu says jokingly, voice laced with a humorous sarcasm. “We’ll go on a harrowing journey early tomorrow morn, where you’ll dramatically and romantically whisk me away after saving me from a vile band of treasure hoarders —“
“Oh, they’re treasure hoarders now, not hilichurls?” Chongyun’s lips curl into a wide grin.
“Shush! — it’ll all be followed up by a lunch in the city at Xiangling’s and a relaxing afternoon tea watching all of our friends preform, but I’ll make sure we’re seated at a humble distance from Xinyan’s stage and bring extra popsicles for you.”
It’s a bit flustering, really, the way Xingqiu labels it a date, but Chongyun just giggles into his pillow at the ridiculous nature of it all. “I don’t think Gaming’s dance is until next week,” he says, effectively shutting down Xingqiu’s idea. It’s comical, really, the way Xingqiu’s face drops. “And I thought Yun Jin was travelling with the rest of her troupe until the end of the month.”
Xingqiu waves his free hand, “Tch — details, details. Just let me fantasize in peace.”
“This is considered a fantasy for you?” Chongyun questions. He’s still smiling, stupidly big as laughter crinkles his eyes. “We do stuff like that all the time.”
“Maybe, but romanticizing my life is a lot nicer than taking things at face value — ah, hey! Stop laughing at me!”
And that just makes him giggle a little harder, but he supposes Xingqiu doesn’t mind too much since a laugh bubbles off his tongue soon enough and then they’re both giggling into each other’s shoulders. His hair smells like lavender and, oh, they’ve somehow gotten closer together, Chongyun realizes. They’re still holding hands.
Xingqiu cracks a wry smile after a while and he subconsciously squeezes Chongyun’s hand. “I guess it is a bit silly to want to reenact scenes from my stories, though, isn’t it?”
“I don’t think so,” Chongyun says, voice dipping into something soft now that their mirth has trickled away. Something about the self conscious way Xingqiu curls his shoulders makes Chongyun’s hand tingle those phantom memories again; the desire to reach out, brush aside his hair and tuck it behind his ear. He opts for fiddling with a loose thread in the sheets. “It makes you happy, doesn’t it? I don’t see why that would be weird.”
Xingqiu looks up at him then, smile a bit smaller this time. “You always indulge me too much, Chongyun.” And then, far too suddenly, “I’ve always imagined your love would be gentle.”
Xingqiu says it delicately, in a way so uncharacteristically earnest it makes Chongyun freeze; there is no joking twist to his voice this time.
Chongyun’s eyes blow wide. “You’ve imagined…?”
“I mean, yeah.” Xingqiu shrugs, eyes and fingers flitting to inspect the edges of his pillow case. “It’s not all that odd, is it? It’s easy to, all things considered.”
Chongyun’s heart stops so suddenly, he swears he can feel the way reality splinters around them.
“I — I guess.” Chongyun blinks, his mind spinning to comprehend what Xingqiu was saying — what the hell was he saying?!
Xingqiu turns to him again. “What about you? Have you ever thought about it?”
“Uh —” Of course, Chongyun nearly says, Every day and every night right before he went to sleep, imaging the curve of Xingqiu’s lips as he smirks in the dark and leans over to — “I, uh… maybe sometimes,” he says meekly.
Xingqiu hums, nodding in a way far too casual for someone who just rewrote the rules of the universe like it was nothing. He was not supposed to say things like this. This was dangerous territory. “And what would my love look like, exactly?”
“What?”
Xingqiu shrugs again, the faintest hint of a blush turning his ears a peach pink. Perhaps the dim lighting is making Chongyun imagine things. “You said you’ve thought about it. So what do you think it would be like? I’m curious.”
“Well…” Chongyun begins, flushing under Xingqiu’s gaze. His eyes are intense, but in a delicate way that looks like melted honey. He looks away, fiddling with blanket. “I guess… I guess I imagine you’re someone who shows a lot of affection through words. I mean — you, uh, you talk a lot —“
Xingqiu scowls at this.
Chongyun squeezes his hand, rushing to correct himself, “Not in a bad way! I like your talking, a lot, I mean I think your voice is nice, it’s not bad, so when you talk a lot — I mean, I don’t typically say much and…” Archons above bury him now.
Chongyun whines, burying his burning face into his hands. “I don’t know, I guess I see you as someone who’d uplift their partner with affirmations or — or read one of your cheesy romances to them.” He needs to stop talking. But what he says sounds so eerily similar to how Xingqiu treats him, that Chongyun panics and scrambles to tack on, “But I wouldn’t know.”
“Is that so…” Xingqiu muses. “You’re wrong.”
“Huh?” Chongyun blinks.
“You’re wrong,” he says again. “About one part, anyway.”
“What part?” Chongyun can’t help but ask.
Xingqiu bites his lip, as if contemplating whether or not he wanted to respond to that. His mouth breaks apart, though, as a grin overtakes that too-pretty face of his. “Do you want to know how I think your love would look like?”
Chongyun flushes again, “Why do I get the feeling you’ll tell me even if I say no?” They’re both avoiding each other’s questions, but at this point, he’s is just surprised he hasn’t melted into the ground yet with how often he’s been blushing.
“I figure it’s only fair,” Xingqiu replies easily. “You explained mine, so I’ll explain yours.”
“You just know it’ll embarrass me,” he mutters.
This part is familiar at least, Chongyun thinks, just another string of flirtatious teasings soon to befall him. It doesn’t make it any easier, though, to stomach what he knows is just going to turn into wishful thinking on his part. Gods, just knowing Xingqiu had put some time into contemplating Chongyun’s love language was exhilaratingly terrifying already.
Without any further confirmation, Xingqiu leans forward all up in Chongyun’s space. Chongyun’s eyes blow wide and he flinches as yet another furious heat takes over his cheeks.
“Maybe ~ ” Xingqiu says cheekily, and Chongyun hates how distracted he is by the gloss on Xingqiu’s lips, how close the two of them are. “But I still want to take a knack at it, though.”
Always with the closeness, it was with Xingqiu. Always getting so near to him that Chongyun can’t help but hitch his breath, to notice just how long Xingqiu’s eyelashes are. Always a mouth hooked in a wickedly pretty grin and eyes curved like twin half suns — a cat ready to pounce, and in every scenario, Chongyun seems to be the toy mouse.
But this time, Xingqiu softens. A slight droop of his lips and eyes rounding out as something more serious overtakes him.
A hand reaches out to feel gently at Chongyun’s cheek. “You would be soft. Not overly boisterous or loud with the way you love, but delicate. Shy hand holding and awkward kisses.” Xingqiu’s mouth quirks even higher, a wistful sort of look glazing his eyes as he looks somewhere just over Chongyun’s head, into his hair. “You’re tall, too, so maybe hugging a shorter partner would be weird for you, but you’d get the hang of it eventually and learn to rest your cheek on their head, if only to make them happy.”
Chongyun’s not breathing anymore. His entire body is shaking, heart hammering loudly against his chest, skipping every three beats because why is Xingqiu being so specific? His heart jumps another time when he makes the connection that — ah, Xingqiu is, in fact, a good handful of centimeters shorter than him, and when they’ve hugged before it’s always been a bit awkward with Chongyun’s height and —
“Hhugnh,” Chongyun lets out a broken little noise and his face heats up all over again, as if that was even possible.
This only makes Xingqiu smile wider, but it’s not in a cruel or tantalizing way. It’s small, his expression soft and he looks at Chongyun with such fondness that he has to look away.
“Was I close?” he asks.
“Xingqiu that’s — “ Chongyun bites his tongue. “None of that counts.”
A quizzical look crosses Xingqiu’s face. “Doesn’t count?”
“Well, yeah! You just, ah…” How does he tell Xingqiu that what he described was exactly how Chongyun treated him. What exactly was Xingqiu insinuating here? “You just. That’s just how I would likely treat anyone, right?”
“So you’d actively hold hands and hug Xiangling, Xinyan, and —?”
“No!”
“Then my description fits with how you treat me, then,” Xingqiu concludes.
“I — yeah, I guess” He runs an embarrassed hand through his hair, looking away. “I mean, with— without the kissing, of course, because we’re not, uh — that’s not…”
Xingqiu is creeping towards him again, leaning forward onto his elbows now and peering over him. Any further, and their noses would touch. “Is that so wrong to deem my description false?”
Chongyun swallows heavily. The longer part of Xingqiu’s hair tickles the edges of his jaw, making it very hard to compute any thoughts. “Uh…”
“My, my, are you having an episode, A’Yun?” The back of Xingqiu’s hand is at his forehead, blisteringly cold against his skin. He sucks in a breath, mouth spluttering more incoherencies.
Navy brows furrow deep to form a contemplative look. Then, “And you never lean away. Why?”
“I — what?”
“I always do this, and yet…” Xingqiu lets out a huff of air, seemingly disappointed with Chongyun’s response.
For reasons completely unknown to Chongyun, Xingqiu appears frustrated now, and it’s odd because Chongyun simply does not understand where Xingqiu is going with any of this; there were so many questions Xingqiu seemed to have for Chongyun tonight, each incredibly vulnerable and seemingly deliberate, no doubt a set up for more teasing. And yet, the punchline to it all hasn’t quite hit yet. He’s been thoroughly teased already, yes, but there’s typically much more to it. A universal equation left unfinished, unsolved.
He’s still flustered, face undoubtedly painted pink, but this time it’s Chongyun’s turn to knit his brow and ask a question.
“A’Qiu,” he says quietly, slowly. “Why are you asking me all this?”
Chongyun has never been one for nicknames. That was more Xingqiu’s doing, but he suddenly understands why his friend is always using them because the reaction it brings is incredible. Xingqiu is blushing, the pink in his ears bleeding rose-red into his cheeks, and it’s such a novel sight that has Chongyun spellbound. This never happens. The universe has not revealed this novelty to Chongyun in which Xingqiu was capable of embarrassment — of blushing, such a vibrant red, quite like this.
A small shake of Xingqiu’s head. “You’re just a mystery to me is all, dear Chongyun.”
“A mystery?” Chongyun echoes.
“Yes,” Xingqiu lets out a breath and leans away, finally granting Chongyun his personal space again. “I like to think I’m rather good at reading people, but I admittedly get rather stumped sometimes when it comes to you.” He turns away from Chongyun, falling to the mattress with his back to the sheets. But he doesn’t go far, opting to touch shoulders with him.
“Ironic, isn’t it? Since we're supposed to be best friends and all. Or perhaps that’s the very reason why I’m having trouble.”
“I…I cant say I follow.”
The sigh Xingqiu releases is an aching one, and he looks at Chongyun with an incandescent sort of wonder, stars alight in his eyes. “You’re truly wonderful, Chongyun.”
Xingqiu must know how confusing this is to him, since he doesn’t leave room for Chongyun to respond, “I can’t tell if you’re just nervous or if I’m reading things wrong.”
He reaches out then, and brushes the hair from Chongyun’s forehead. All he can do is lay there, frozen and wide eyed, breath caught somewhere between his throat and chest. Xingqiu’s shaking, he realizes, fingertips gentle and feather soft but trembling all the same. Lotion smoothed knuckles trail to Chongyun’s cheek, his jaw. They linger there, cool against his skin as the scent of crushed almonds and rain fills Chongyun’s senses.
“You do know, by the way,” Xingqiu says breathlessly. His voice is a murmur of moonlight, the stars glossing his navy hair to black — an ink spill on a white satin pillow case.
“Know what?” Chongyun whispers.
“My love,” comes the clarification. “That’s what you got wrong. You said you didn’t know what my love was like, but you do. You always have.”
Chongyun thinks he’s dreaming. Thinks that, when the shadow of Xingqiu’s body rolls over him, all gentle curves and a sleep heavy weight to it all, that he’s imagining things. That he’s fallen asleep long ago and has reopened his eyes to a lucid, wispy reality that only ever existed in his mind. There’s a forearm pressed against the sheets to his right and flush with his shoulder, propping Xingqiu above him, and a knee slipping between his legs and hands in his hair and then — oh. And then Xingqiu’s cupping his face and there’s a puff of air against his lips. That’s all the warning Chongyun gets.
It’s soft, the warm skin-on skin sensation of mouths pressing together and their noses mushing into each other’s cheeks. He’s shell shocked for a moment, body tensing with the unfamiliarity of it all, but never has he conceded so fast to relaxing. Chongyun closes his eyes to drink it all in because, oh, Xingqiu is kissing him. It’s an innocent, closed mouth thing, made interesting only by the gentle massaging of Xingqiu’s lips and — well. Maybe it’s not all that mind blowing, but it is to Chongyun if only for the fact it’s Xingqiu who’s kissing him. Really, truly, actually kissing him.
“Tell me that was the right thing to do” Xingqiu huffs quietly when they draw away. His hands clench the hem of Chongyun’s sleep shirt, white knuckled and shaking still. He’s nervous, hovering ever so slightly above Chongyun, close but careful not to overstep too far. There’s a tentative fascination in his eyes, and Chongyun can tell he’s on the cusp of leaning forward, doing it all over again.
And gods does Chongyun want him to do it again. “Yes,” he whispers a bit too quickly.
“Yeah?”
Chongyun nods so fast he worries his head might fall off. His neck hurts from craning it upwards already, and his mind is so dizzy and foggy and, god, Xingqiu is rubbing intoxicating circles just under his ear, into his jaw and — “Again, please.”
He knows he sounds desperate, maybe a little pathetic, really, but holy mother of Morax he didn’t realize just how much he wanted this.
Xingqiu obliges him near immediately, dipping his head to capture Chongyun’s mouth in yet another chastity. It’s sweet but overwhelming nonetheless. Xingqiu flutters against him, gentle and tentative like the quiet beat of a butterfly’s wing. Alive in the way it sends a shiver skipping steps down Chongyun’s spine — something shocking as it awakens a dormant desire he hadn’t known existed.
He’s springing into action suddenly, a hand flying up to Xingqiu’s hip, another at Xingqiu’s neck and he tugs him down, gets rid of that teasing inch of space left between them. It’s addicting, the way Xingqiu gasps into his mouth, and Chongyun can’t help but make a small noise himself.
And oh, gods, Xingqiu is warm. They’ve hugged before, touched intimately as friends but never had Chongyun experienced this before, a full body-on-body flush. They sink into one another and it’s heavenly, the way Xingqiu molds against him. Chongyun dares a tongue out to skitter across Xingqiu’s teeth, and the hand at his shoulder tightens its grip as a response. He moves his tongue again, and when Xingqiu slants his head, it all clicks together.
Maybe it was the fact this kiss is something so new for the both of them that has Chongyun’s pulse thrumming quicker, the drums of his ears pounding eagerly loud as blood rushes to his head. Maybe it was because something as precious as this was being shared within the dim confines of night — a kiss in the dark made more intimate by the shrouds of dusty blue hues and the light of alabaster stars. The comforts of a thick duvet beneath their legs, and the softness of each other’s hands mapping familiarity across the arcs of their bodies.
Xingqiu had always been someone close to him — someone always on his heels, looping arms and elbows together, sweeping hands over shoulders. This kind of closeness is different, Chongyun thinks. A uniquity lying in this waltz of their mouths.
Chongyun’s hands duck under Xingqiu’s sleep shirt and he grasps hesitantly at his hip bone, his waist, loves the curve of muscle he finds there. His fingers slip into the groove of his spine and with a hoarse sort of noise, Xingqiu arcs into him.
He does not expect himself to become dizzy so quickly; his head begins to feel heavy and his chest aches with the lack of oxygen. Even still, as he draws away to inhale the crisp chill air, there’s some sort of giddy satisfaction that comes with the sharp sting in his chest — a scary, but fulfilling understanding that he would gladly suffocate if it meant he could kiss Xingqiu again and again, and maybe a few times more than that. He almost doesn’t want to catch his breath, tongue darting out across his lips to chase after whatever taste Xingqiu leaves on him.
Xingqiu looks just as mussed as Chongyun feels, blinking into bleary awareness and kiss swollen lips parted as he reclaims his own breath. A delightful color sits high on his face, red turned redder yet and a wonder finding home in the sunset of Xingqiu’s eye.
And his heart feels so much love for his boy he just kissed. A boy dipped in the soft contours of night and pouring pure starlight across Chongyun’s skin. And — oh Archons, was that what he was feeling?
He thinks Xingqiu is about to say something, given how he opens his mouth, but Chongyun pulls him down before he has the chance. He’s already breathless, and likely Xingqiu is too, so it doesn’t last much longer than a few seconds, but Chongyun kisses him again anyway. He doesn’t know where this sudden impulse is coming from: maybe his yang really is acting up.
“You’re quite eager, aren’t you?” Xingqiu says, and the way his voice pitters out, a little breathless, squeezes at Chongyun’s heart. “Not even going to ask me any questions before kissing me a third time?”
“I’m in love with you,” Chongyun blurts. Or wheezes, more accurately. “I — uh. I just… need you to know that.”
“And confident, too,” Xingqiu notes. “You sure you’re not having an episode right now?”
His face burns even more, somehow, when Xingqiu lifts his hand to touch his forehead again. “N— no…?”
“Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are when your face turns red like this?” Xingqiu asks, hand brushing up into his hair.
Chongyun’s eyes flutter closed as fingernails scrape carefully at his scalp, smoothing away his bangs and loose strands. It wouldn’t be the first time Xingqiu has touched his hair, but it certainly felt a lot more intimate with him lying on Chongyun’s chest, his second hand cradling his cheek and thumb doing an addicting little sweep under his eye.
“I… well, not really — nngh! ” he barely gets half a sentence out, choking on his words when Xingqiu’s finger moves to trace his lips.
The smile curling Xingqiu’s mouth is dangerous. “Or about how you’re so cute when you’re embarrassed.” He cups Chongyun’s face with both his hands, grinning wider as Chongyun flusters. “It’s a rather irresistible sight to behold. I really struggle holding back from pushing you further, you know.”
A beat of silence.
“…you’re flirting with me,” Chongyun realizes.
“Have been trying for a while now,” Xingqiu says, laughing. “Took you long enough to realize.”
“You like me, too…”
“Was that not obvious?”
“But Xingqiu, you’re — I thought —“ he trips over his own tongue.
It’s impossible, Chongyun thinks. He must have hit his head, or had something sneaked into his food. He’s dreaming, surely, because there’s no way any of this was actually happening. The Archons at the dawn of time had molded Teyvat with rules and guidelines that governed their world — absolute truths set in stone. Chongyun wasn’t sure how much he believed in fate, but he had been certain the outcome of his relationship with Xingqiu was swathed in nothing more than the bittersweet taste of platonic feelings.
And yet…
And yet Xingqiu is a warm and heavy weight atop him, fingers teasing the edges of Chongyun’s jaw. There’s a foot nudging against his own beneath the sheets and the skin of Xingqiu’s leg is smooth where it brushes his thigh. It’s delightful, really, the way Xingqiu looks down at him, grin wide across his face and the faint light from outside catching the divots of his dimples. He grins like he knows something Chongyun doesn't. This close, he can pinpoint the tiny mole beneath his lip, a second one hiding within the wrinkles around his eye. He is beautiful and lovely and he is everything to Chongyun and — and he is breaking every tangible law ever written by the universe.
Chongyun resigns himself to a groan, throwing the crook of his elbow over his eyes. He feels stupid, for some reason, even though he knows he has no logical reason to be. Chongyun was smart, knowledgeable. Maybe not so much to be on par with Xingqiu, but he had enough wit to him to confidently label himself intelligent.
“…how long?” Chongyun crosks out.
There’s mirth curving Xingqiu’s eyes and a fondness in his touch. The way he reaches out, fingers soft and thin, is a cool relief against the heat thrumming in Chongyun’s veins.
He doesn’t know everything, and it was ridiculous to think fate would keep their friendship stagnant throughout their lifetime. The world was still full of mysteries and there was no way Chongyun would ever discover all of them. He didn’t know everything. He is only seventeen, after all. Maybe that’s why it doesn’t come off as much of a surprise when Xingqiu speaks next.
“Haven’t you been listening to me, A’Yun?” He pries Chongyun’s arm away, peeking under to catch his gaze. A smile dances between the corners of his mouth. “Like I said, you’ve always known my affection.”
The morning comes and the sun bleeds yellow and red behind Chongyun’s eyelids. His body feels floaty, the sheets beneath his back somehow softer than they were before. It takes him a moment to place the weight that rests against him, the fuzzy, tickling pricks of hair that brush his jaw. Fingers trail his arm like raindrops on his skin, gentle and cool. The reminder of what happened the night prior comes trickling in not long after.
The morning is soft and rounded with sleep and sunlight. Xingqiu is against him, tucked along his side and head nestled into Chongyun’s shoulder. There’s a smile, dimpled and lovely directed at him. Lips meet his own, languid and lazy. They’ve woken up too late, Chongyun says. Xingqiu just rolls his eyes: It doesn’t matter now, does it?
They still go on that adventure. The house workers milling about Xingqiu’s home don’t ask questions as they barrel down the staircase, hand in hand. They stop by the kitchen for a handful of apples and other snacks to bring along for breakfast. The Adventurers Guild gives them a few commissions and then they’re off.
It’s a decent hike to get to their location, and Chongyun sees it as a good opportunity to ask the questions that have been curdling since late last night. He places his hand at Xingqiu’s shoulder, eyes him carefully. It’s a vulnerable, fragile moment between them. Sharing secrets they haven’t told anyone else. To see Xingqiu blush in the sunlight is a lot different in the dimness of night. He can see the way Xingqiu bites his lip, the way his eyes flick downwards — little details that were otherwise hidden from him in the shadows before.
Chongyun’s brow wrinkles at one point and he finally asks, “Why didn’t you say anything before?”
“I was just… scared,” Xingqiu admits. “Scared of losing this.” He gestures with a hand between them.
That, he can understand. They were both avoiding this, Chongyun realizes, coping in their own way; while Xingqiu had simply gone ahead and pretended what had occurred at Luhua Pools never happened, Chongyun had tried to suppress whatever emotions he felt. They had been like two binary stars, orbiting one another but never drifting close enough. He’s close enough now, though, and Chongyun says as much.
He reaches out, carefully grazing his nails across Xingqiu’s cheek and tucking his hair up and behind his ear. He marvels at how easily he does it, how Xingqiu allows him, even quirks his mouth and leans into it. For months, Chongyun had daydreamed about doing that very action, of touching Xingqiu freely and intimately like that.
“Are you still scared now?” Chongyun asks.
There’s no more hesitance now, and Xingqiu smiles easily. “No.”