Although they have spent this past week sleeping in the same bed, Wangji still finds himself at a loss for words every time he wakes up to the sight of Wei Ying curled against him. The first thing he notices is the overwhelming scent of lotus flowers and morning dew, more so than usual. Savouring this moment, he breathes it in and tightens his arms around the slumbering man.

Sunlight glares from the gaps of the curtains, streaking gold onto Wei Ying's bare skin. In the light, his hair glistens in different tones of brown and black. Long ago, when they were still naïve teenagers, Wangji would watch sunlight paint over Wei Ying's hair, until morning turned into afternoon, and until Wei Ying left with that same grin he rarely ever dropped. After he turned to demonic cultivation, the smiles were no longer genuine and his laughter was laced with bitter mockery rather than the lively cheer Wangji had grown to love.

It was a painful experience; to watch the man you loved—the man you love—turn into someone you did not recognise. Regardless, no matter how far Wei Ying threw himself into darkness, Wangji loved him. He loved Wei Ying, who spent more time drawing him rather than copying Gusu Lan's rules; he loved Wei Ying, who stole his forehead ribbon – along with all its implications – without knowing anything about the chaos it did to Wangji's heart. He loved Wei Ying, even after he lost himself and pushed Wangji away with words that still hurt even today. He loved Wei Ying after he died and was reborn into a new man with the same face, the same sadness that haunted his grey eyes. He loves Wei Ying now, more than he ever thought he could.

Wangji strokes back the strands that fall over Wei Ying's eyes. A smile threatens to pull at his lips and he allows it to. There is no one here but them, and he has always struggled to keep his defences up around Wei Ying anyway.

As he runs his fingers through Wei Ying's hair, he notices the marks that now cover his neck and shoulders. Wangji's hand stiffens. His concern is short lived, suddenly remembering all of the details of what occurred between them last night. In an instant, his head is filled with images of Wei Ying clinging to him; the column of his neck as he threw his head back, screaming his name for the whole world to hear. It had all been a rush then and Wangji will admit he lost control. The marks and bruises that now mar Wei Ying's body are a clear indication of that.

Does he regret it? No... not at all. He's long yearned for the day he could touch Wei Ying and show the extent of his love for him. While Wei Ying does not know everything yet, Wangji hopes he has felt something during their time together.

He traces his fingers over Wei Ying's waist, drawing lines along the bruises that have formed overnight. At first, he worries that he has hurt Wei Ying, but it is followed by the undeniable feeling of satisfaction that surprises Wangji. He remembers the way Wei Ying clung to him, how good their bodies felt pressed against each other, how maddening it was to sink into Wei Ying's warmth and listen to the way he moaned for more...

Wangji swallows the lump forming in his throat. Of course Wei Ying will destroy the self control he has built for almost three thousand years in a single night. Only him.

An almost inaudible mumble comes from Wei Ying. His eyelashes flutter open. As per usual, his bottom lip juts out; a clear indication that he is not a morning person. It is the same procedure every morning; Wei Ying will glare at whatever his eyes have landed on before gathering his senses and waking up entirely.

“Hmm... Good morning, Lan Zhan,” he mumbles. Although his eyelids are drooping close again, Wei Ying offers him a lopsided smile.

Wangji pulls him closer. “Good morning, Wei Ying.”

“What time is it?”

“Eleven.”

Wei Ying opens one eye, groaning. “Ah, shit. Why didn't you wake me up?”

“You looked peaceful.”

“Silly Lan Zhan, we're supposed to visit Jiejie for lunch!”

With a huff, Wei Ying rolls out of his arms and reaches for his boxers on the floor. Wangji remains where he is, contently watching Wei Ying struggling to put them on. Once he has succeeded, he swings his legs over the bed... and promptly falls straight down.

“Fuck!” Wei Ying cries as he lands with a resounding thud.

Wangji is by his side in seconds. “Wei Ying?”

For some strange reason, Wei Ying starts laughing. He is still kneeling on the ground, holding his hips. He shakes his head to himself and jabs a finger at Wangji's chest.

“Lan Zhan, seriously... I think you've actually crippled me,” he says.

It slowly dawns on Wangji what he is talking about. Guilty, he can only help Wei Ying back to his feet, internally berating himself for being so rough last night.

“I can't stand up straight!” Wei Ying cries, although still laughing. True to his word, he hunches over and winces every time he attempts to take a step forward.

Wangji clenches his jaw. “You are hurt.”

Wei Ying pats him on the cheek. When Wangji does not respond, he pouts and tugs at his dressing gown, playing with the belt. “It's not your fault. I was asking for it.”

Even though there is no blame in Wei Ying's tone, Wangji cannot shake off his thoughts. Wei Ying is only human. The differences between them are far too great for him to act so careless. He should have been more careful.

“But if you really want to make it up to me...” Wei Ying snakes his arms around his neck, directing Wangji's gaze back to him. “Carry me to the bathroom. I need a shower.”

Wangji stares at him. Wei Ying is giving him the same smile that makes it impossible to deny any request he makes.

And so, he sweeps Wei Ying into his arms, easily carrying him.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying shrieks. “I was joking!”

“You said you desired a shower,” Wangji says, already making his way for the bathroom. Wei Ying weighs next to nothing in his arms, even with all of the wriggling he does to try and escape. In the end, he huffs and throws his head back in laughter.

“Fine, fine! To the bathroom then!”

They begin the usual morning routine of brushing their teeth side by side. Now that they are in front of a mirror, it is much more difficult to keep his eyes off Wei Ying. The bruises forming all over his body are a stark contrast to his fair skin, especially the ones that cover his neck and shoulders. When Wangji looks at himself, he sees a few marks peeking out of his dressing gown too, courtesy of Wei Ying.

As an immortal, he can easily get rid of these. In fact, he can even choose to do that with the scars that cover his back and the brand on his chest—but Wangji will never consider it. These marks are reminders of Wei Ying. He will never part with them.

“You need a shower too, don't you, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asks him after they are finished brushing their teeth. He points at the shower, raising an eyebrow.

Wangji shakes his head. “You first.”

Pursing his lips, Wei Ying turns to the shower. He taps his feet on the floor.

“Or... we can take one together?”

Wangji did not expect that. He spots the undeniable blush spreading through Wei Ying's cheeks as he turns back to him.

“Okay,” he says.

“Alright, but help me into the shower so I don't slip and die,” Wei Ying says, chuckling. His choice of words leave Wangji frowning at him but he says nothing and guides Wei Ying to the shower.

They are both silent as they slip off what little clothes they are wearing. Wangji does not mind if Wei Ying sees his naked body—he has nothing to hide—although it does make him somewhat curious when Wei Ying sneaks glances at him with an expression that is difficult to read. His eyes roam over the brand on his chest for far too long.

Wangji has already expected him to ask about the scars and the brand. Even now, he is struggling to form an answer should the question rise. Lying to Wei Ying does not sit well with him, but telling him is an impossible task. How can he explain to Wei Ying that the marks he carries on his body are because of him, over two thousand years ago?

Wei Ying will think he is mad. Wei Ying will think he is mad and he will leave. Wangji cannot risk that.

Fortunately, Wei Ying says nothing for now. He enters the shower with Wangji, turning his back far too quick in order to switch the device on. Within seconds, warm water washes over both of them. Wangji hears a quiet sigh escape Wei Ying before he turns to face him again, a small smile playing on his lips.

For a brief moment, Wangji does not know what to do. He can only remain where he is, silently allowing this image of Wei Ying to imprint in his mind. The water has now soaked his hair, running droplets down his neck and his body. He is slender – but not sickly as he had used to look when he was the Yiling Patriarch. There is no brand on his chest and nor is there the apprehensive look of caution Wei Ying would often have around him, possibly in fear that Wangji would ask him to return to Gusu again. Instead, Wei Ying's eyes are large. Waiting. He takes a step forward.

Wei Ying reaches up to run his fingers through Wangji's hair. The feeling of his hands massaging his scalp is soothing. Wangji closes the distance between them, ducking his head down.

“No offence but this shower is much better than the one you have in your house,” Wei Ying says, spinning the shower head away from them and reaching for the bottle of shampoo.

Wangji raises an eyebrow.

Squeezing the shampoo onto his hands, Wei Ying begins to massage it into Wangji's hair. He is more than capable of doing this himself, but he cannot deny the surprising surge of contentment he feels watching Wei Ying in front of him.

“How do you even work that thing?” Wei Ying asks.

“It is fine.”

Wei Ying's lip curls. “It took me ages to realise how to change the temperature last time... Oh, Lan Zhan, close your eyes.”

Wangji does as he's told. “Temperature?”

Water washes over him once again. He keeps his eyes closed and remains still as Wei Ying rinses the shampoo off, humming a faint song that Wangji recognises is the song he made for him all those years ago. He recalls playing it for him several months ago too; the fact that Wei Ying still remembers is a miracle.

“Yeah, it was freezing when I stepped inside,” Wei Ying says. “Geez, Lan Zhan, you have so much hair! We're going to run out of shampoo at this rate!”

Wangji opens his eyes. “It is always cold.”

“What do you mean? Your shower? Do you not change the temperature?”

He says nothing. It had never occurred to him that changing the temperature was one of the options. The shower itself had already been installed into the house when he bought it; it had always been cold and he saw no reason to change anything. It reminded Wangji of the cold springs they had back in the Cloud Recesses. Sizhui used a different bathroom in his own bedroom as well, therefore he had never said anything amiss about Wangji's shower.

Pausing, Wei Ying leans back and frowns at him. “Are you telling me you've never changed the temperature of your shower? You take cold showers?”

Again, Wangji does not respond. He takes the bottle of shampoo and begins to give Wei Ying the same treatment he had given him.

A light laugh comes from the other man. “Too bad for you, Lan Zhan. We're having a warm shower now. I'm not freezing my balls off.”

Wangji shakes his head at Wei Ying's unnecessarily crude language but nevertheless does not let it distract him from the task at hand. Although Wei Ying's hair is not as long as it used to be, he lathers it thoroughly, careful not to let any shampoo splash onto his eyes.

“You have such pretty, long hair but isn't it a pain to handle?” Wei Ying says.

“I am used to it.”

“You've never cut it before?”

“No. Close your eyes.”

Wei Ying closes his eyes as Wangji directs the shower head in his direction, rinsing the shampoo off. “Why not?” he asks, peeking open one eye. “You'd look hot with short hair—not that you aren't already.”

Wangji wipes the water off Wei Ying's face. “Would you like me to?”

“Haha, that's not my decision, Lan Zhan.”

“Hm.”

His brother had once suggested they both cut their hair in order to fit in with modern society. It was an offhanded suggestion that neither decided to follow in the end; Wangji did not care for blending in, and Xichen eventually forgot about his own idea. As long as no one grew too suspicious of them, then Wangji saw no reason to waste any effort in adapting their ways.

Wei Ying rests a hand on Wangji's chest, right over the brand.

“How did this happen? And your back?”

Wangji stiffens. He looks away before an answer can form itself into his mind. Even as he desperately tries to think of a response, he cannot bring himself to lie to Wei Ying.

“You don't have to tell me if you don't want to!” Wei Ying quickly says. He laughs, but it does not sound like the usual laughter that reaches his eyes.

“It is a long story,” is all Wangji can respond with.

The silence that dawns between them afterwards is uncomfortable. Wangji cannot ignore the obvious curiosity in Wei Ying's eyes. While he insisted Wangji does not have to say anything, he is still staring at the brand as if he's attempting to decipher the answers himself. The urge to tell him is maddening—but how will he even begin with such a story?

Wei Ying, I have been waiting for you for almost three thousand years. You died, but I have never once given up on you.

Wangji takes a deep breath and swallows down the words. Wei Ying will never understand. He will think Wangji is insane before he can even contemplate to understand such a story. The distance between them remains as large as ever.

Wei Ying strokes the back of Wangji's neck, pushing his head down. As easily as that, Wangji's thoughts dissipate away and all he can focus on is the smile tugging on Wei Ying's lips. The curiosity in his eyes is long gone, replaced with that same glint that crumbles all of Wangji's defences within seconds.

“If it's so long then I'd rather do other things in this shower,” he says.

Before he finishes that sentence, Wei Ying's hand is already trailing down his stomach, deliberately slow and torturous. A shudder escapes Wangji and it becomes difficult to breathe as Wei Ying finds his length, wasting no time in stroking him, firm and hard. His palm is soft, warm, pumping him in a way that it's almost impossible not to thrust forward. It does not help that Wei Ying is so close, close enough that Wangji pictures himself pushing him into the tiles, silencing the quiet laughter that teases him now.

Wangji stills himself, breathing through his teeth. He thinks back to all of the bruises on Wei Ying's body and the fact he can barely walk this morning. He needs to control himself.

The smile on Wei Ying's lips widen and he leans closer, sucking one of the existing marks on Wangji's neck. Wangji does not stop him—how can he?

Wei Ying squeezes him, forcing out a hiss from his lips. “Hmm, Lan Zhan, you're already hard...” he murmurs against his skin. The heat from the water pouring over them is long forgotten; Wangji is lost in the pleasure that Wei Ying gives, relishing the way he expertly strokes him. He does not realise he has closed his eyes, unable to stop himself from bucking into Wei Ying's hand.

Too soon, it stops. When Wangji opens his eyes again, Wei Ying is down on his knees, licking up his length.

He grabs Wei Ying's shoulder, stopping him. “Wei Ying!”

Wei Ying looks up and licks his lips. There is a dangerous spark in his eyes that tells Wangji he is up to no good. He doesn't have the heart, or the self control, to stop whatever it is he has planned. His grip on Wei Ying's shoulder loosens. As always, Wei Ying is a storm he has no control over, bringing chaos into his life. All Wangji can do is stand back and admire him, his pulse quickening at the mere sight of Wei Ying grasping his member.

“You don't mind, do you, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying teases. He strokes him again, his mouth tantalisingly close. “I need my breakfast, you know.”

Wangji does not have the opportunity to react to what he says. Wei Ying opens his mouth and slips him inside.

The image of Wei Ying kneeling with his mouth closed around him is nearly enough to drive him to insanity—but it is much more maddening once he begins to move. Wangji grits his teeth, leaning his head against the tiles as Wei Ying swallows more of his length. He cannot prepare himself for the tight warmth that surrounds him, the consuming sensation of Wei Ying's tongue. His hands rest on Wangji's thighs, gripping him harder when he begins to struggle taking all of him inside.

He has always tried to avoid imagining scenarios like this. There have been times during the past centuries that his control slipped and he would find himself trying to chase pleasure, losing his thoughts in fantasies he would later regret once sense returned to him. Often, he would imagine Wei Ying in this same position, taking him into his mouth, eager and enthusiastic as he always is with everything. Now that it is becoming reality, Wangji realises his fantasies dulled in comparison to the real thing.

Wei Ying pulls away, sparing a glance up at him as he slowly licks up his member. There is that usual smile that plays on Wei Ying's lips, although the message behind them is much more different with what he is doing now. Wei Ying does not break his gaze and the mirth in them is evident, teasing. He pulls back again, allowing the tip of Wangji's length to bump against his cheek and his lips. By now, he is painfully hard and the temptation to thrust back into Wei Ying's mouth is staggering. He wants nothing more than to feel everything Wei Ying's body has to offer, to spend everyday losing himself in Wei Ying and nothing but Wei Ying...

Wangji clenches his fists, digging his fingernails into his palms. Wei Ying presses a kiss on the tip of Wangji's length, swirling his tongue around it before enveloping it back into his mouth.

It feels amazing, and it is not long until Wangji buries his hand into Wei Ying's hair, jerking his hips forward. He groans, hearing the sound of Wei Ying choking beneath him.

Wangji loosens his hold.

“No.” Wei Ying pulls back to speak, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Keep doing it, Lan Zhan. I told you not to hold back, didn't I?”

Wangji averts his gaze away, narrowing them at the tiles. “I do not want to hurt you.”

Laughter rings in the air. Wei Ying is back on his feet, snaking his arms around Wangji's neck until his eyes are on him.

“Don't worry about that. I liked how rough you were last night...”

As he says this, he presses their bodies against each other, trailing kisses up Wangji's jaw. With no space between them, Wangji can feel Wei Ying's own arousal rubbing against his stomach. Everything and everywhere is Wei Ying, and he is all too glad to drown. He follows the path of Wei Ying's spine with his fingers, the curve of his waist, the softness of his skin. He can spend hours losing himself just admiring this man in front of him, but Wei Ying's impatience does not match his plans. He kneels down once again, winking in Wangji's direction.

Wet heat envelops Wangji's length once again. This time, Wei Ying moves his head up and down much quicker. The sounds that come out of him are obscene, shameless, but Wangji will be lying if he said it did not excite him in ways he never thought possible. He grips Wei Ying's hair, thrusting forward. For a brief moment, Wei Ying chokes as the length hits the back of his throat, but he holds onto Wangji's thighs and refuses to part. Wei Ying moans around him, the vibrations multiplying the heat that threatens to consume Wangji all too soon. When he looks down, he vaguely sees that Wei Ying is stroking himself while pleasuring him.

Wei Ying pulls away with an audible pop. “Fuck my mouth, Lan Zhan,” he says, his voice strained. “Come on, just grab my head and use me. I want you to.”

Wei Ying really will be the death of him.

Wangji clenches his shaking fists, slowly reaching for the back of Wei Ying's head. His eyes darken at the image Wei Ying is conjuring in his head; the control he's spent years and years building up disperses before them. He repeats what Wei Ying has told him. Use me.

He grips onto Wei Ying's hair and begins to thrust into his mouth in earnest. The tight, wet heat is maddening, more so when Wei Ying tries his best to match his pace. He moans and swallows around him, not once looking away. From here, Wangji can see tears welling up in his eyes, the momentary flinches on his face whenever his length hits the back of his throat. Nevertheless, neither of them stop. The water that pours between them is forgotten; the only thing Wangji can hear are the guttural sounds that escape Wei Ying, filling this small bathroom. Wei Ying makes no attempts to slow him down, not even as tears begin to fall down his cheeks and his jaw slacks.

Together, they build a mismatched pace; Wangji struggles to maintain his sanity whereas Wei Ying clumsily licks and sucks him, moaning all the way. He is a beautiful sight when he is losing himself in moments like this. Wangji finds himself admiring the way Wei Ying's hands shake to stroke what he cannot fit into his mouth, the way his tongue darts out to taste the tip of his length, the way his eyes are glossed over, only fixed on him.

It is all too much. Heat builds in Wangji's stomach, tightening—

He snaps his hips forward one last time, shuddering at the white-hot pleasure that overwhelms him. Too late, he tries to push Wei Ying off but he swallows as much of Wangji's length as he can, drinking what is being spilled down his throat.

It feels like an eternity before Wangji comes to his senses again. He watches Wei Ying rise, holding onto him for balance. His eyes are red and his lips are swollen. There is an unmistakable trail of white liquid dripping down his chin, which he does not hesitate to wipe with his finger and suck back into his mouth.

Wangji cannot even deny the fact he's blushing at the mere image of it.

“Thanks for my breakfast, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, grinning. “That tasted good.”

“Shameless,” Wangji chokes out.

Wei Ying's laughter is music to his ears. He wraps his arms around Wangji's neck, kissing him deeply. His mouth tastes salty, bitter; Wangji is not so clueless to miss the reason why it is like that but he does not allow this to deter him. He reaches for Wei Ying's own length, swallowing down the moans that escape the other man as he begins to stroke him. It does not take long for Wei Ying to keen over, pulling away to gasp and moan his name. Wangji pumps him twice, three times, until Wei Ying finally spills into his hand.

As he loses himself in his climax, Wangji admires him; the way his eyes squeeze close, the way he bites his bottom lip, the deep flush painting his cheeks. Wei Ying is beautiful—so, so beautiful. He is the calm after the storm; Wangji clings to his trembling body, drowning, too, in the waves of pleasure both have submerged themselves in. Amidst the dripping of water and their synchronised breaths, Wangji hears the rampage of Wei Ying's pulse.

“I'm getting dizzy.” Wei Ying laughs under his breath. “Maybe we've spent too long in this shower.”

Wangji smiles into the crook of Wei Ying's neck. He nods, pressing a kiss to the spot where he can feel his veins thrumming with life.

They finish the rest of their shower with no other distractions. Luckily, by the time they are dressed, Wei Ying's limp is less prominent, although that does not stop him from making exaggerated moans of pain whenever he bends over. Wangji can only sigh at this. In order to hide the marks both have inflicted on each other, they wear turtle-neck jumpers to cover their necks. Wei Ying makes a comment that he does not mind letting everyone see the hickeys – as he calls them – but admits that he'll be a bit embarrassed if his sister says anything about it.

It is odd how everything and nothing has changed. Wangji is lost in this strange feeling of bliss where his attention is on Wei Ying at all times, listening to him, responding when needed, admiring everything the exuberant man does. It has always been the same; Wei Ying is too bright, too blinding, and Wangji is a lost cause when it comes to following him. This time, however, his love for Wei Ying is accompanied by an overpowering happiness that leaves him breathless.

Whatever worries he has about their future are drowned out by Wei Ying's grin, his non-stop nonsensical rambles about anything and everything. Wangji cannot deny it now. He is happy.

 

- x -

 

It is their last day in Cleveland. Tomorrow, they will set off in the morning to return to Gusu. Wangji will admit he is not sure what this will mean; will he and Wei Ying return to simply being acquaintances? Will Wei Ying wish to see him more? He has grown too comfortable with the idea of being with Wei Ying everyday. The thought of not spending his days constantly listening to his voice is disheartening.

But Wangji refuses to let that cloud his mind for now. He accompanies Wei Ying to visit Jiang Yanli, following him to her room rather than waiting outside as he usually does.

He is relieved to find that Jiang Yanli looks much healthier than she did before he transferred his spiritual energy to her. At first, Wangji worried it was not enough, but the brightness in her eyes and her smile is a clear indication she is on the road to recovery.

Wei Ying informs him that Jiang Cheng and his nephew have already departed for their flight back to Gusu. With both gone, it is only four of them in this room; Jiang Yanli, Wangji, Wei Ying, and Jin Zixuan.

Wangji sits back, listening to Wei Ying talk to his sister. Often, he will spot Jin Zixuan rolling his eyes at something Wei Ying has said. In response, Wei Ying will squint at him and talk faster, causing his sister to laugh. Wangji has nothing to offer to their conversation, simply content with listening to what Wei Ying has to say.

An hour has passed when Wei Ying's phone suddenly rings. He winces as soon as he checks it.

“Hang on, it's Wen Qing,” he says, standing up. “I'll be back in a bit.”

Jiang Yanli nods at him, smiling. Wei Ying pats Wangji's shoulder before he leaves and Wangji squeezes his hand, spotting the quick twitch on his lips. He says nothing and scurries outside.

Once he is gone, Jiang Yanli laughs, shaking her head.

“I'm glad A-Ying is happy. I can tell he really likes you,” she says.

Jin Zixuan scoffs. “Anyone can tell.”

Jiang Yanli makes no comment on what her husband has said. Instead, she directs her smile towards Wangji's direction. “And you feel the same.”

Wangji cannot deny that. He remains silent.

“Please take care of him,” Jiang Yanli says.

He nods without hesitation. “I will.”

“A-Ying is too hard on himself... He will always put everyone first, regardless of how much it affects him. I worry about him.”

Wangji knows that all too well. In his previous life, Wei Ying did not hesitate to destroy himself in order to protect those he loved, even when they turned against him in the end.

“I will take care of him and... make sure he does not come to harm,” he says, more as a promise to himself. He will do whatever it takes to ensure Wei Ying is happy.

Jiang Yanli beams at him. It is difficult not to feel comfortable in her presence; Wangji understands now why Wei Ying adores his sister so much. There is an air of maturity around her that can make anyone feel at ease.

“Thank you. With the way you look at him, I can see how true your words are,” she says. “It's about time A-Ying started living for himself, rather than for others.”

It is then that Wei Ying returns to the room. Wangji watches as he sits back down on his chair, repeating Jiang Yanli's words in his head. He cannot spend an eternity with Wei Ying, but he will at least try to make him happy for the rest of his life. If Wei Ying allows him the chance.

“What did your friend want?” Jiang Yanli asks.

Wei Ying waves his hand, huffing out a breath. “She was, uh, demanding to know how our date went.”

Something in Jiang Yanli's eyes shift. Beside him, Wangji notices Wei Ying fiddling.

“And how did it go? You haven't told me yet.”

Wei Ying nibbles on his bottom lip. “It was good... Lan Zhan is a perfect gentleman.”

The flush that is slowly spreading through his cheeks is lovely. Wangji averts his eyes away, lest Wei Ying distracts him more with how he is continuously biting his lips.

“Why are you limping?” Jin Zixuan asks out of nowhere.

Wei Ying lets out a cough that sounds more like a squawk. Unable to help himself, Wangji stirs in his seat. His mind betrays him with memories of their coupling last night, so fresh and vivid that had it not been for his ability to conceal his emotions, he would be struggling just as Wei Ying is now.

“...Actually, you know what? I really don't want to know,” Jin Zixuan says eventually.

Jiang Yanli laughs. “I see you two enjoyed your date then.”

Wei Ying covers his face. Even his ears have now turned red. “Jiejie.”

An uncomfortable silence passes over them. Jin Zixuan is shaking his head and Jiang Yanli continues to give Wei Ying that smile that leaves him squirming on his seat. Wangji is aware of his own cheeks heating up, but he pays it no mind and looks away into the distance. For the sake of his own sanity.

“You're leaving tomorrow, aren't you?” Jiang Yanli asks eventually, gracious enough to change the subject.

Wei Ying visibly deflates. “Yeah... Our flight is in the morning so I don't think we can visit...”

“That's okay. We'll see each other again when I'm back.”

“Yeah...”

“Look after A-Ling when you're back in school,” Jin Zixuan mutters. He folds his arms, staring at his wife rather than Wei Ying.

Wei Ying raises his eyebrows, clearly surprised. “Of course.”

Jiang Yanli reaches for Wei Ying's hand. “You take care of yourself, okay?”

For a second too long, Wei Ying falters. He looks down at their hands, frowning, and then turns slightly to Wangji.

“I will,” he says. His voice is quieter than Wangji expects, but there is a small smile on his lips that alleviates his worries.

Wangji remembers what Jiang Yanli told him earlier. He will definitely make sure Wei Ying is safe and happy.

They leave shortly after that. The sun is still in the sky, covering the city in a blanket of orange and gold. There is a cold breeze that stirs in the spring air, bringing with it the faint waft of food coming from nearby shops. Wei Ying walks beside him, strangely silent. He has been quiet since they left the hospital; whatever Jiang Yanli has said to him must still be on his mind.

Wangji waits for him to talk. His eyes roam their surroundings, uninterested in any of the bustling shops they pass by. Cleveland is a beautiful and colourful city, however it is one of many if you have lived for countless centuries. He has seen the rise and growth of many cities, and even his own home. Along the way, Wangji has forgotten what it feels like to be truly home, to belong somewhere. It is unavoidable, of course, given they must leave before people grow suspicious of their lack of ageing.

There is a lot of beauty in the world but everything is temporary. This view of the colourful city before him, no matter how vivid it is, will eventually fade from his memory. The faces that blur past, the sounds that fill his ears, the ceaseless chaos; it is all meaningless to an immortal.

He looks to his right. Wei Ying is gazing at all of the shopping displays, squinting at the various mannequins that pose before them. He makes a few comments every now and then, mostly to tell Wangji whether he approves of the outfits or not. Wangji responds whenever Wei Ying directs the question back at him, sharing his own opinions.

His mind, nevertheless, is elsewhere.

Unlike everything, Wei Ying is impossible to forget. He will never fade from Wangji's memory and he will never become meaningless. Wangji has waited centuries for a chance to be with Wei Ying. He will cherish what little time they have together, be it ten years, or twenty, thirty...

But Wei Ying will grow old, and you will not.

Wangji grits his teeth. No. He will not think of the future, or the past. He will focus on the present. He will focus on what he can have with Wei Ying.

The rest, whatever it may be, will come.

He sighs, looking up. The first thing he lays his eyes on is his own reflection on a shop's window. Wei Ying is too busy admiring the mannequin's outfit, unaware of Wangji studying their reflections.

For some reason, he remembers what Wei Ying mentioned earlier.

You have such pretty, long hair but isn't it a pain to handle?

In truth, Wangji has never cut his hair because, deep down, part of him is hesitant to blend in with humanity. He and his brother are already attempting to do so with their day-to-day jobs, regardless that they have enough money to survive without needing to, but there is a stubborn side to Wangji that refuses to fully lose himself in the act of being human.

What use is there? If he becomes too comfortable, he will eventually have to leave. He does not want to get attached to an illusion.

Wei Ying, though, is a different story altogether.

Wangji does not want to distance himself from Wei Ying, simply because of their differences. He will happily blind himself with an illusion of spending a life with him if he can.

“You're quieter than usual,” Wei Ying says, poking him. Wangji tears his eyes away from their reflection. “What's up?”

He scans their surroundings. As luck would have it, he spots a hair salon nearby.

Wangji nods in its direction. Raising an eyebrow, Wei Ying follows his gaze, frowning once he sees what he is staring at.

“The hair salon? What about it?”

Running his hands through his hair, Wangji looks down at the strands still caught between his fingers. Long ago, there was a time when cutting your hair short was unthinkable. Hair, along with your body and skin, was a gift from your parents; to part with it was a sign of disrespect and shame.

Wangji had barely known his parents, but traditions were traditions. As with any traditions they grew up with, they are now long forgotten and discarded into history.

He faces Wei Ying again, noting the confusion evident on his face.

“I want to cut my hair,” he says.

Wei Ying frowns. “This isn't because of what I told you this morning, is it? You don't have to cut your hair because I said that. I like you as you are.”

I like you as you are. The compliment makes him falter for a second. Wangji shakes his head, allowing a small smile to grace his lips.

“I am... curious,” he admits.

Slowly, the frown on Wei Ying's face turns into a smirk. He chuckles under his breath, reaching over to pat Wangji's cheek. “You're so cute, Lan Zhan. Okay, let's go in.”

As soon as they step inside, they are greeted with an almost overwhelming scent of hairspray and perfume. There are far too many people in here; Wangji is close to turning around and leaving immediately—and he would have, had Wei Ying not walked ahead and introduced themselves to the lady at the front desk.

“Hi there. My, uh, friend wants a haircut,” Wei Ying says in English, motioning towards him. Wangji does not miss the fact he has referred to him as a friend.

He takes a step forward, nodding at the woman in order to distract himself from his thoughts.

Wei Ying is much more than a friend to him, but is that what he only thinks of Wangji?

“You want to cut your hair?” The woman's voice drags him back to reality. Her eyes are wide, scanning Wangji from head to toe.

Wangji nods.

“Just a trim or...?”

He looks around the hair salon, narrowing his eyes at all of the posters that are stuck on the window and the walls. There is only one poster in particular that does not look too outrageous; it is of a man whose hair is cut short at the nape but his bangs fall about his eyes. A neat hairstyle; not too short, not too extravagant.

“Like that,” Wangji says, nodding towards the poster.

Even Wei Ying is now raising his eyebrows.

After the woman asks, yet again, if he is sure he wants to cut his hair, she leads him to one of their hairdressers. Wei Ying sits down on one of the free seats behind him, reaching over to read a magazine while he waits. Wangji watches him for a couple of seconds, until the hairdresser raises her voice in order to catch his attention.

Her name is Amy, apparently. She asks him what he would like to do with his hair, and he gives a brief explanation in answer. Like the other woman, she does not hide her surprise when he mentions he would like to have it short. It seems that not many men with waist length hair go to this salon to have most of it cut off.

Nonetheless, she begins. The first snip of her scissors is a strange sight; to watch a large portion of his hair fall onto the floor is surprisingly unsettling. After a few more snips, Wangji stops watching her and directs his gaze to Wei Ying's reflection on the mirror. He is still reading the magazine; from the looks of it, whatever he is seeing is not satisfying him. Wei Ying curls his lip, flipping several pages before dumping it back down on the table. He reaches for another, squinting at the cover.

This is how Wangji spends the duration of his haircut. Sometimes, the hairdresser will try to talk to him but he will only murmur a response, if at all. He is far too engrossed in what Wei Ying is doing.

He does not know how much time has passed. Eventually, Wei Ying grows bored of reading the magazines, resorting to browsing through his phone instead. At one point, he almost falls asleep. Wangji can only stare in amusement.

“Done!” the hairdresser exclaims. Wangji turns his eyes back to his own reflection.

Admittedly, he is taken aback at how large the difference is. Wangji has never cared for his appearance, although many have said he and his brother are very handsome. The compliments meant little to him; to lose yourself in vanity is against one of the many rules they used to have in the Cloud Recesses. While those rules no longer rule his life, Wangji's own appearance has never been a priority. As long as he remains clean and well-kept, that is all that matters.

Granted, this haircut is not a bad change. His head definitely feels lighter. Behind him, Wei Ying rises from his seat, eyes widening.

“Do you like it?” the hairdresser asks. “You look so handsome!”

Wangji turns in head in different angles, inspecting the cut. The change is jarring, but he will admit it is quite nice. He nods. “Hm.”

Another hairdresser turns towards them, clasping her hands together. “Ah, he looks like an actor! No—better than an actor!”

A nearby customer laughs. “Sir, your wife is a lucky woman! She would have such a lovely surprise when you get home!”

Wangji cannot help but frown. “No wife.”

“No wife? Oh, are you single?”

Wei Ying appears by his side, huffing. He reaches over to cup Wangji's cheek, turning his face towards him. Almost instantly, the voices around them drop into silence.

“Aaw, my Lan Zhan looks so handsome!” Wei Ying says in English. He raises his voice a bit louder, stroking Wangji's cheek. “Not that you weren't handsome already.”

It is impossible not to smile. “Do you approve?” Wangji asks. Considering that Wei Ying is talking to him in English for some reason, Wangji does the same.

Wei Ying's grin widens. “Of course, Lan Zhan!” He leans closer, as if to whisper into his ear. When he speaks, his voice is not quiet at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. “I'll show you how much I like it when we're alone.”

Wangji can feel his ears heating up. Pulling back, Wei Ying runs his hands through his short hair, pushing back the trimmed bangs. To Wangji's surprise, he leans in for a kiss. It does not last long enough, but it is enough to make the customers and hairdressers around them awkwardly look away, staring at anything but the pair.

He pays for the haircut and leaves the salon, holding hands with Wei Ying. When they step outside, the sky is already bleeding indigo into the sunset. How long was he in the salon for?

With nothing else to do, they walk back to their hotel. By the time they reach the entrance, the sun has set and the streets are flooded with cars rushing home. Wei Ying pauses before they step inside.

“Sorry about that,” he says all of a sudden.

Wangji furrows his eyebrows together. “For what?”

Scratching the back of his head, Wei Ying releases a shaky laugh. “I, er, got a bit jealous back there at the salon. I know we're not together so I shouldn't have done that... but I didn't like the way they were all looking at you.”

Understanding quickly dawns on Wangji. That must have been why Wei Ying was so adamant in speaking English...

“Do not be sorry,” he says. Even so, Wei Ying refuses to look at him. There is a small pout on his lips.

“I only want your attention,” Wangji reassures.

Almost immediately, Wei Ying jerks back. He playfully swipes Wangji's shoulder and heaves a sigh. The blush spreading over his cheeks is back.

“Damn, Lan Zhan. You're too good at hitting me with these compliments out of nowhere.”

Wangji wants to tell him these are not just compliments, but also the truth. The only attention he will ever feel comfortable with is Wei Ying's. No one else matters.

As always, he swallows down the words he yearns to say.

“This isn't the best place to be talking about this but I might as well ask now that I've brought it up,” Wei Ying mutters. He takes a deep breath. “So, um, what exactly is happening between us?”

Wangji frowns.

Fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket, Wei Ying continues. “I mean, I... I... I like being with you... and I, uh, wouldn't mind being together-together.”

“Together?”

Wei Ying motions with his hands. “As in, you know. Us. Together.”

Hope blossoms in Wangji's chest. He blinks, letting Wei Ying's words sink into him. Together, he had said. He wants to be... together?

A frustrated groan comes out of Wei Ying. He impatiently paces around, muttering to himself. After watching him for an entire minute, he spins around to face Wangji again.

“Ah, fuck,” he curses. “I'm not good at this whole serious relationship thing... But what I'm trying to say is that I've really enjoyed my time with you here, Lan Zhan... And I'd like to see you more.” His voice drops into a quiet mumble. “And have more sex with you... but not just sex! I want to go on more dates—and just, anything. I like you, okay?”

The hope bursts and Wangji is suddenly overcome with an emotion too strong for him to even categorise. Wei Ying's cheeks are painted with a deep flush; his eyes dart everywhere but his direction and his hands are tugging at his sleeves. Still, Wangji does not hesitate to step forward, holding Wei Ying's face in his hands and kissing him as deeply as he can. He conveys all of the words he struggles to say into this kiss, hoping some part of Wei Ying will understand the emotions he has kept inside for a lifetime.

I love you. You are everything I have ever desired, everything I have ever needed. I will spend every day of your life by your side. When you are gone, I will find you again, and again, and again, until this world turns into ashes and until I am no more.

He does not know who parts from the kiss first, but he does know he is smiling as soon as he meets Wei Ying's eyes.

“I feel the same,” Wangji says, without hesitation.

Wei Ying's own smile is radiant, brighter than any sunrise he has seen in his life. “So, we're together now? I get to have you all to myself?”

Wangji leans closer, brushing their lips together. “I have always been yours.”

Like before, Wei Ying swats him, using his other hand to cover his reddening face. “Ah, god, Lan Zhan! You're too good at this!”

Whining, he wriggles out of Wangji's arms. Even with his absence, Wangji's smile has still not dropped. He thinks he wants to laugh, which is an odd feeling, but it is here and it is all because of Wei Ying.

As he watches Wei Ying, the voice of his mother drifts back into his mind. Her face is a ghost in his memories and he cannot remember what her smile looked like, but he has treasured everything she has ever told him.

Life is too short, A-Zhan. Cherish every day that you are gifted with.

Immortality has stolen the meaning in those words. For too long, he has wasted away every day, wishing for death rather than this everlasting life he has been cursed with. For too long, life did not feel short; life felt endless. Wangji wanted nothing more than for this meaningless existence to end.

And yet, the more he looks at Wei Ying, the more he is beginning to understand what his mother had meant all along. Two thousand years on, he is still here, and he is glad.

 

- x -

 

This morning is fairly peaceful. Xichen is enjoying his cup of tea, listening to the calm serenade of classical music. Earlier this week, Sizhui was kind enough to tell him where to find classical music on the radio, rather than have to listen to their mainstream pop all the time. Xichen does not mind modern society's music; Lady Gaga is very talented and he will admit he has had the urge to sing along to some of her songs. Nevertheless, nothing will rival the calming instrumentals that put his mind at ease.

He sighs, leaning back on his sofa and closing his eyes...

“Fuck! This piece of shit!”

Xichen sits up, slowly facing his door. He hears more cursing, accompanied by a series of thumps that get louder and louder.

It has been quiet here for the past week. That noise can only mean one thing.

Sighing, he sets his cup of tea down on the table and rises. He opens his door, peeking out. As expected, Jiang Cheng is outside, dragging a very large looking suitcase with him and shouting a plethora of curses at it as if the inanimate object can understand what he is saying. After much struggling, he finally reaches his own door.

Now, he is cursing even more as he fumbles to find the right key to open his apartment.

Xichen shakes his head to himself, smiling as Jiang Cheng drops the keys onto the floor and explodes with a barrage of threats aimed towards it. Without thinking, Xichen moves.

“Shit!” Jiang Cheng cries, jerking away from him. “Don't sneak up on me like that!”

Xichen bends down to pick the keys up. He offers the officer a friendly smile, dropping them into his palm. “Welcome back, Officer.”

Although there are bags under his eyes and his hair is sticking up in all sorts of directions, the tiny smile Jiang Cheng responds with lights up his face.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, opening his door.

“Am I not allowed to greet you?”

“Hmph. At least let me get inside my apartment first.”

Xichen takes his suitcase for him, lifting it with ease. One of the wheels is broken; no wonder Jiang Cheng was having trouble trying to pull it.

“Let me. You look tired,” he offers.

“No shit. Just got back from a thirteen hour flight.”

They enter the apartment. It only dawns on Xichen now that the last time he had seen Jiang Cheng was when they had that argument—or can it even be classed as such? Jiang Cheng had every right to be upset, even if his words did hurt.

Thinking back now, it feels like a lifetime ago that happened, not just a mere week.

Looking around, he takes in the cluttered state of the apartment; there are shoes and clothes on the floor, and one of the shelves has even been knocked down. It is unlike Jiang Cheng to keep his home so untidy.

“Where is Jin Ling?” Xichen asks.

Jiang Cheng steps over a pile of books on the floor, glaring at his surroundings. “I dropped him off at my brother-in-law's. I have a shift tonight so I can't look after him.”

Brother-in-law... Does he mean Meng Yao?

He has not seen Meng Yao or Nie Mingjue since that day he bumped into them at the café. Admittedly, it is not as if he has been purposely trying to see them either. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Even so, his efforts in trying to forget about them are thwarted, all because of a certain nephew who goes by the name of Lan Jingyi. This week, he has been visiting Sizhui and enthusiastically trying to make him watch Crimson Heart. Sizhui, ever the polite teenager, could not bear to refuse him and eventually gave in.

Xichen did not watch with them. It was difficult enough having to hear Meng Yao's voice whenever his scenes came up.

“Ah, I see,” he mutters.

Jiang Cheng kicks a stray shoe on the floor. “I forgot A-Ling wrecked my apartment when he was trying to pack. Fuck, I can't be bothered tidying this now.”

Xichen pushes aside his thoughts of Meng Yao. He looks up at the wreckage that is Jiang Cheng's home and releases a laugh. It reminds him of the time the officer ransacked his own apartment in search for his sword. How the tables have turned...

“Have you had lunch yet?” Xichen asks.

“Not yet. I was thinking of ordering something.”

“I'm in the middle of cooking lunch. Would you like to join me?”

Jiang Cheng spins to face him. He kicks the shoe again in contemplation, squinting at Xichen as if he's not entirely sure if he can cook.

“Well... If you're offering then fine,” Jiang Cheng eventually says. “What are you cooking?”

"Just roast duck and fried rice. Unless you want something else?

Jiang Cheng shakes his head. “No, that sounds good.”

“Will you be okay with waiting then? The duck is still in the oven, but I think it is almost done.”

“Yeah, that's cool. I need a rest anyway.”

With that decided, the two of them move to Xichen's apartment. Classical music is still playing from the radio and Xichen had just finished tidying every room this morning; compared to Jiang Cheng's apartment, this place looks like a haven.

“Make yourself at home,” Xichen says, just as Jiang Cheng kicks off his shoes by the door and heads straight for his sofa. He refrains from laughing and watches with amusement instead. The poor man looks so worn out.

“How was America?” he asks.

Jiang Cheng lays his head back, closing his eyes. “Not bad. A-Jie is doing much better now.”

“That's good. Will she be returning here then?”

“Hopefully...”

Xichen nods. That can only mean Wangji succeeded in transferring spiritual energy to her. Before he left for Ohio, he told Xichen of his plans to try and help Wei Wuxian's sister. Concerned for his safety, Xichen originally did not support the idea. To freely use their abilities in public—and a hospital of all places—was only looking for trouble.

Nonetheless, there is nothing that can stop his younger brother once he sets his eyes on something, especially if Wei Wuxian is involved. Fortunately, it did not seem as if any problems arose from his reckless plan.

Speaking of Wangji... Xichen ought to ask him how his date with Wei Wuxian went—later though; for now, he must cook lunch and feed the starving officer in his living room.

“I thought you were looking after your nephew while your brother's in Ohio? Where is he?” Jiang Cheng's voice calls as Xichen makes his way for the kitchen.

Xichen checks on the duck in the oven. Only a couple of minutes left until it is finished cooking.

“Sizhui is with his friend Jingyi for the day. He said he was looking forward to seeing Jin Ling again.”

“You say that like they haven't been video calling each other everyday.”

He laughs. “Why are you back to work so soon?”

He hears Jiang Cheng groaning. “Chief Nie's been going nuts this past week. He really wants to crack down at these attacks.”

The smile on Xichen's face drops. He frowns at where Jiang Cheng is sitting in the living room, gripping the handle of the oven.

“Have there been more?”

“I don't think so. I'll find out later, I guess.”

Gusu has always been peaceful. Numerous centuries may have passed but Xichen has never thought of Gusu to be a place where random attacks occur. According to what Meng Yao said, they believed it was because of a gang... but who could possibly do such a thing? And for what reason?

Xichen did not like to get involved with human matters. He and Wangji have survived this long because of the distance they have placed between themselves and humanity. Changing that now will help no one. Nie Mingjue was a capable leader—is a capable leader. He will be able to stop these gangs himself, along with the help of anyone in the police force.

He looks towards Jiang Cheng.

Nie Mingjue might be a capable leader, but that doesn't mean Xichen likes to stand by and do nothing as the people he cares about are thrown into danger. No matter how many years have passed, he is still the same man who would blindly help those who do not ask for his help.

“Oi. Xichen? The alarm's going off.”

Then again—what can he even do about these attacks? Like Nie Mingjue, he knows next to nothing about who is starting these. He is not part of the police force; he will never have access to information they may have on them. It is not his business to meddle with these affairs...

“Xichen?!”

Xichen jumps and pulls his hand back—

And somehow rips out the oven door with him.

His eyes widen. Oh no. Oh dear. He stares down at the dent on the handle, perfectly shaped around his fingers. The door has been pried off its hinges and now there is—

“What the fuck?”

Still holding the oven door, Xichen looks up to see that Jiang Cheng has risen off the sofa, staring at him with his jaw wide open.

“Oh,” Xichen says.

Jiang Cheng points at him. “Did you just rip the oven door off?”

If someone told him today that he would reveal himself as an immortal by destroying an oven with his superhuman strength, he would have most likely laughed at them.

This... This is not an ideal situation. Xichen is perfectly aware of Jiang Cheng's eyes boggling at the oven door he is still holding.

“No...” he slowly mumbles. “It was already broken before...”

Jiang Cheng vehemently shakes his head. “What? I literally just watched you pull the oven door off! What the fuck!”

If Xichen shared the same vocabulary as Jiang Cheng, this would be the part where he would be thinking Oh, shit. Oh, shit indeed.

Still, he is not one to easily back down. He continues to shake his head, plastering a wavering smile on his face. “It was already broken before... Silly me, I completely forgot.”

He is not sure if it's a miracle or Jiang Cheng is just surprisingly gullible, but the officer is no longer staring as if he's going to arrest him for the second time. Instead, he approaches the kitchen, craning his head to look at the broken oven.

“What? It was broken before? How did it break in the first place?”

“I forgot...” Xichen helplessly shrugs. He tries to put the oven door back down, propping it to stay upright. It stays still for a second, and then teeters over to the side and smashes straight onto the floor. “Ah.”

Jiang Cheng pinches the bridge of his nose. He takes several deep breaths. “Just—Just step away. You're going to end up hurting yourself, for fuck sake.”

Stepping over the broken glass, Xichen retrieves the duck from inside the oven. Luckily, it looks edible.

“At least the duck is cooked.”

Jiang Cheng folds his arms, scrutinising it. “But you said the oven was already broken. Did it cook properly?”

“Yes... It was only the door that was broken.”

With the duck safely rescued from the kitchen and no other appliances destroyed by Xichen, they eat their lunch. Thank small miracles that Jiang Cheng believed his lie about the oven. That was far too close for Xichen's liking... He really needs to be more careful about accidentally exposing himself to Jiang Cheng. This is almost worse than getting arrested for having his sword out in public.

Despite the incident, Jiang Cheng compliments him on marinating the meat. Xichen doesn't have the heart to tell him that duck was already prepared by the supermarket; he just had to put it in the oven...

After lunch, Jiang Cheng returns to his place on the sofa. Xichen urges him to take a nap before his night shift but something else catches Jiang Cheng's eyes. He reaches over, grabbing the DVD left on the table.

“You actually bought Crimson Heart?”

Xichen sits down beside him, sighing. “It belongs to my nephew.”

Turning it over, Jiang Cheng reads the summary on the back with a very unimpressed voice.

“Wei Yuandao is a young man who transmigrates to Ancient China after an unfortunate accident. Lost and confused in a time much different than his own, he must try to survive in order to return from whence he came. Although he tries his best to blend in, he catches the attention of a silent prince whose heart has been cold and unapproachable for many years. As the story progresses, he finds himself caught between politics and a web of lies much more dangerous than he could ever imagine. Can the silent prince help him, or is he his enemy too?” Jiang Cheng's frown deepens, looking at the cover again. “I didn't know this drama was gay.”

“It's not. Apparently, the original novel is, but the live drama only focuses on a brotherly relationship between the two male leads.”

“Doesn't sound very brotherly to me.”

A laugh escapes Xichen. “I have not watched it yet so I don't know. Do you want to watch it with me?”

He doesn't know why he asks this. He has avoided watching the drama because Meng Yao is in it, and he has never been one to be interested in TV anyway.

It is too late to take back the question though. Jiang Cheng scoffs at the DVD again and shrugs. “Fine. This might help me get more sleep.”

As they watch the first episode, it becomes obvious why this drama is so popular. Every scene is beautiful; the costumes and props are incredibly realistic that Xichen is thrown back to the past. The plot itself is quite cliché, although he can see the appeal in that with a specified audience. Wei Yuandao is a funny protagonist, albeit severely reckless at most times. Every where he goes, there is trouble and it is not long until the silent prince must reluctantly rescue him.

“This Wei Yuandao person is so annoying,” Jiang Cheng comments, rolling his eyes when the man in question appears on the screen again. “Why is he obsessing over that younger prince when the older one is better?”

Xichen cannot help but smile. “You prefer the older prince?”

Jiang Cheng points at the older prince. Like his younger brother, he wears white robes and his hair is adorned with a white ribbon around his forehead. It reminds Xichen of their old Gusu Lan uniforms back then, actually. The older prince smiles at Wei Yuandao, causing the protagonist to blush.

“Yeah, he's actually friendly,” Jiang Cheng says. “The younger one looks like an ass.”

Xichen is about to respond when a familiar face pops up on the screen.

Jiang Cheng smirks. “Oh, I forgot Huaisang is an actor here too. Did you know I went to school with him?”

The scene pans onto Huaisang, who is revealed to have been hiding behind a wall all this time. None of the other characters noticed him, therefore unknowingly revealing their dark plots. Huaisang steps out of the shadows, his face hidden by the fan he is always carrying. Even with half his face obscured, his eyes are filled with a cold emotion that Xichen has never seen on him.

“He's a good actor,” Xichen says.

“Surprisingly.”

While the episodes are almost an hour long, they get through three until Meng Yao finally appears. Xichen stiffens.

His hair is as long as it used to be, and he is wearing golden robes. There is even a black felt hat that is too similar to the one he would always be seen with. The golden robes lack the white peony motif, but the similarities still leave Xichen with blood running cold in his veins. He cannot focus on what Meng Yao is saying.

Perhaps that is for the best. Watching the polite smiles on his soft face is already difficult enough.

“Hmph. As annoying as he is, Meng Yao's a pretty good actor too,” Jiang Cheng says.

Xichen can only nod. He is no longer paying attention to the drama, but he does not need to. He knows all too well how much of a good actor Jin Guangyao is.

 

- x -

 

After watching several episodes of Crimson Heart, it's no surprise that Jiang Cheng does end up falling asleep—which is all well and good because he needs all the rest he can get for this night shift coming up.

But the annoying thing is that he had to fall asleep right on Xichen's shoulder, and what's even more annoying is that Xichen didn't even do anything about it! Jiang Cheng woke up a few hours later, clinging onto Xichen's arm and receiving the horror of his life once it dawns on him that—god forbid—it looked like they were practically cuddling.

It's safe to say that Jiang Cheng left the apartment, yelling at Xichen at the top of his lungs.

“You fell asleep on me and I did not want to wake you,” Xichen had said with that infuriating smile that never left his face. “I didn't mind.”

Fuck that, Jiang Cheng thinks. He minds, damn it!

He massages the temples of his forehead and shoves Xichen to the back of his mind. Sighing, he scans the silent streets around them. Tonight's shift has consisted of him patrolling the streets with a small group of other officers, watching out for any sign of trouble. It's nearing eleven PM now and the only trouble they've found is a group of students who were clearly too drunk to be walking around at night.

“Anything else been happening since I've been gone?” Jiang Cheng asks Song Lan, who has remained with him while the rest of the officers separate to scout other areas.

The younger officer turns to face him. “Nothing much. We were trying to look into possible patterns for these attacks but we found none. They're just... random. Like they have no motive at all.”

Sighing, Jiang Cheng faces the sky. It's eerily quiet tonight. Gusu is always quiet, but tonight is a type of quiet that has him on edge. Maybe it's the jetlag, maybe it's because of these stupid attacks. What he does know is that in all the years he's worked for the police force, they've never faced anything like this—not in Gusu. Nothing happens in Gusu. This place is as quiet as you can get.

“You think this gang leader's just bored?” he asks, more to himself than to anyone.

“Could be,” Song Lan murmurs. “These attacks are just a way to show off their power, something like that.”

“What's the point of doing it anonymously though? If they want to show off, they should let us know who they are.”

Song Lan is silent at first. When Jiang Cheng looks back at him, he is deep in thought.

“Or... they're doing it to taunt us. They know how hard Chief Nie is working to find them, and they're trying to anger him more with these meaningless attacks.”

Well, he's not wrong about that. Chief Nie is getting angrier and angrier, that's for sure. With each day that passes, Jiang Cheng is convinced that man is going to end up giving himself a heart attack from high blood pressure.

Jiang Cheng smirks. “You might have a point there.”

The cold wind plays with Song Lan's short hair. Behind his head, a small figure appears from the distance. Jiang Cheng squints. Wait... That person...

He barges past Song Lan.

“You! You're meant to be with A-Ling!”

Meng Yao stops right on his tracks. Oddly enough, he's panting and his hair isn't styled neatly as it usually is. He straightens his posture, facing Jiang Cheng with a tired look in his eyes.

“A-Ling is fifteen,” he says. “He can survive being alone for a few minutes.”

What's even the point of bringing Jin Ling to Meng Yao's apartment? If Meng Yao is just going to leave him, then Jin Ling may as well have stayed with Jiang Cheng!

Annoyed, Jiang Cheng grits his teeth. “What are you even doing here?”

“I'm going for my evening jog, if you must know.”

An evening jog. He's really leaving Jin Ling for a jog?

“I take it you're on evening patrol?” Meng Yao asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng hisses. For someone who's supposed to be going for his evening job, Meng Yao isn't wearing appropriate clothes for it. Who even jogs in jeans and a jumper? For all he knows, Meng Yao's just sneaking off to fuck around with his celebrity friends—or whatever trouble he gets up to these days.

Whatever. He's supposed to be keeping patrol, not wasting his time with his brother-in-law.

Tired, he turns back to Song Lan. To his surprise, the younger officer is looking down at his phone, a frown evident on his usually stoic face.

“Hey, you're not allowed phones on shift,” Jiang Cheng reprimands. “I thought you were supposed to be one of the sensible ones.”

Song Lan doesn't move. He's frozen on the spot, staring his phone as if he's seeing a dead body instead. Jiang Cheng has never seen him like this; usually, the younger officer is well-composed and undeterred by anything. Confused, he nears him, trying to see what exactly is on his phone.

“No,” Song Lan suddenly says. “I have to go.”

He bolts off into a run. Jiang Cheng calls after him to no avail. Song Lan doesn't look back.

What the fuck?

He doesn't have time to think about what Song Lan's seen to get him so worked up. Jiang Cheng runs after him before he loses sight of where he's gone to. They run past the city square, past the park, past Xichen's library and into the back alleys. Jiang Cheng skids into a halt as soon as they reach a dead end, littered with bags and bags of trash and discarded furniture.

In the corner is a man hunched over on the ground.

Song Lan rushes over to him. “Xingchen!”

Jiang Cheng approaches them slowly. The man Song Lan is holding looks about the same age as him, maybe in his mid-twenties. Aside from the glasses that are askew on his face, he seems to be okay. There's no blood or any injuries on him.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Song Lan asks, holding the man upright.

To be safe, Jiang Cheng scans their surroundings and squints at the darkness. There's nothing here but trash and discarded furniture. He keeps his hand on the pistol at his belt, holding his breath.

In the corner of his eyes, someone moves.

Jiang Cheng points the gun at their face—and lowers it as soon as he sees who it is.

“You! Get out of here!” he yells at Meng Yao. “Why did you follow?!”

Meng Yao doesn't even blink. He walks past him, kneeling down beside Song Lan and the other man. Jiang Cheng isn't sure what to think about this. He's never thought of Meng Yao to be someone who cares about other people. It doesn't sit right with him.

He swallows down his doubts and lowers his pistol, watching the scene.

The man – or Xingchen as he's apparently called – rubs his head, groaning slightly.

“I'm... I'm okay,” he mumbles. His voice is so quiet that it's difficult to hear him. “I just fell over but... the person following me... They ran off once they saw my face.”

Eyes wide, Song Lan glances up to meet Jiang Cheng's gaze. “They what? Wait—it was only one person? Are you sure there wasn't more?”

Xingchen shakes his head. “Just one. His face was hidden but he looked a bit scrawny. Young maybe. I-I don't know.”

He inhales a shuddering breath, covering his face with his hands. Even from where he's standing, Jiang Cheng can see how much he's shaking.

“S-Sorry, I just panicked. I noticed he was following me for ages and I... I remembered what you mentioned about the gangs. I-I shouldn't have texted you, I know you're busy—”

“No,” Song Lan snaps. “I got here in time because you texted me!”

“Most likely, it was just a delinquent teenager who lost their nerve once you saw them,” Meng Yao says. His voice, much calmer than the two, is a stark contrast.

“But he... he knew my name.”

Song Lan frowns. “What?”

If that person somehow knew Xingchen's name then Jiang Cheng doubted he could have been part of these gang attacks then. Maybe it's a stalker? Someone who held a grudge?

“Was he carrying anything?” Jiang Cheng asks. “Are you sure he didn't have anyone with him?”

“I'm pretty sure he was alone... and I don't think he carried anything. He... He was dressed all in black. He told me to stay away from the streets during the night, in case anyone else found me. And... And then, that's when he ran off.”

Jiang Cheng exchanges glances with Song Lan again.

That man, whoever he was, warned Xingchen of other dangers in the night. Did he know about the attacks? Is he part of the attacks? Part of the gang, maybe? But if he was, then why is he warning someone about the attacks, instead of carrying them out himself?

What the hell is happening here?

Jiang Cheng spares one more look around his surroundings. Like before, everything is quiet. Still. There's no one out here but them and the black void of the sky.

“Let's bring him to the station,” he sighs. “It's no use talking out here. I'll get the others to stay here in case anyone comes back.”

Nodding, Song Lan helps Xingchen up and leads him away from this place. Jiang Cheng remains where he is, listening to the sound of nothing. He sees Meng Yao rising, wiping the dust off his jeans.

“What are you still doing here?” he asks him.

Meng Yao offers him a smile that looks out of place; it belongs behind a camera, concealed beneath a script. Not reality. Not here.

“You're right,” he says. “Goodnight, Jiang Cheng.”

He leaves, just like that. Even when he's gone, Jiang Cheng doesn't move a muscle. He keeps his eyes trained at the shadows, remembering what his father used to say.

When he was still alive, he worked as a police investigator. If he wasn't arguing with Mom, he'd be in his study trying to find an answer to a case, a lead no one else has seen. He'd always tell them to attempt the impossible; for many years, Jiang Cheng struggled to understand what that meant and how he could he follow it in order to make his father proud.

To this day, he still doesn't know. Attempt the impossible.

How would his father approach these attacks? Would he have found something by now?

Jiang Cheng doesn't know. As much as he idolised his father, he had trouble understanding the man. Wei Ying has always been better at that. Wei Ying has always been better at everything.

He clenches his fists. His parents are dead, and Wei Ying is nothing. There are other things to worry about. He has no time to be caught up in the past.

Finally, he leaves the alleyway. For the rest of the night, he refuses to think of anything else but his job.

 

- x -

 

Fire razes Wei Ying's dreams. He opens his eyes to red, gold and amber, dancing in synchronised flames that swallow everything he has ever known. The smoke is thick and dark, and still he breathes through it. He runs. It is all he can do. He runs, and runs, and runs.

There are others who run by his side; a woman, and a boy as young as him. He realises now that they aren't just running, but they are fighting for their lives. There's a blade in his hand and he moves without thinking, slashing at anyone who blocks his way. Blood merges with the fire that surround them. He has never seen so much blood before.

It should scare him. There are corpses at his feet and all he does is run past them, stepping over their mangled limbs. Some of them are faces he recognises; some of them are faces he does not know, wearing robes that do not belong to his home. White, with red flames; an emblem of a sun imprinted on the lavish cloth. He hates it. He has never hated anything as much as he hates that sun-like symbol.

The next person he stabs is another one of those Wen dogs. That's what they are—he remembers now. They carry a flag with the symbol held above their heads. When he pries out his sword from their chest, the flag collapses onto the muddied ground and he drives his foot onto the sun motif.

He hates them. One day, they will all pay.

They run. The fire rises. His home—the only home he has ever known—is nothing but a charred ruin.

A hand grasps his arm. It belongs to the woman they are with; the woman with vivid purple eyes, whose eyes are always filled with a stinging hatred every time she looks at him. When she screams at him, she hurtles the right words to pierce into his chest. It is all his fault. This is all his fault. He can hate the Wen dogs as much as he wants, but it is him who has sold them out to this fate.

She throws both him and the other boy onto the boat. He can do nothing but listen to the last words she will ever say to him.

Wei Ying! Listen to me! Protect Jiang Cheng, protect him even if you die—do you understand?!

He nods. Tears sting behind his eyes but he nods. The words engrave themselves into his being and he knows he will stop at nothing to protect those he cares about, even if he dies.

Wildfire spreads. The memories blur and the dream rushes on. When everything clears, he sees the embers of a dying flame, clinging onto the Wen Sect's flags. The circular sun mocks him. It is stained with the blood of a family he has cherished into his heart, and Wei Ying vows from then on that he will kill anyone who wears the rays of that cursed sun.

The last remaining embers are snuffed out. He is shaken, thrown back to a world that isn't engulfed in smoke.

“Wei Ying? Wei Ying, wake up.”

Wei Ying's eyes snap open. He's shaking, digging his nails into Lan Zhan's arm. The remnants of his dream are still clinging onto him and it's difficult to pinpoint which is reality and which isn't. He can still smell the smoke, feel the heat licking his skin...

“What is wrong?” Lan Zhan asks, sitting up.

Panting, Wei Ying rubs his eyes and looks up at him. He sees the concern on his face, the hidden questions on his lips. He sees the marks he has left on Lan Zhan, scattered along his collarbones and his neck.

He sees the brand on his chest. Circular. A sun embedded onto his skin.

Wei Ying's blood runs cold.

He stops breathing. All he sees are a pile of corpses, and a flag with the same symbol proudly standing above them.

Why?

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan reaches for his hand, his eyebrows knitting together. Wei Ying doesn't move. His eyes remain fixed on the brand.

A question screams in his head, yearning to be asked.

Who are you?

He bites the inside of his cheek.

Another question; this time, to himself.

Do you want to know?

“No,” Wei Ying says. “I mean—it's nothing. Don't worry. It's nothing.”

He lies back down on the bed, pulling Lan Zhan down with him. He knows he's convinced neither of them with what he's said, but he rests his head on Lan Zhan's chest and tries to forget the images running through his mind.

The night is long, and his dreams are even longer. Wei Ying can do nothing to escape the fire.