Chapter Text
Coming up from a cold boot had been hard enough the first time, when he’d still been partially online; Yibo can’t say that the experience is significantly better this time around, although the sensation of coming back online to Xiao Zhan’s hands warm on his face and his weight heavy over Yibo’s lap is certainly an improvement. Falling offline had been terrifyingly uncertain, but if waking up means Xiao Zhan waiting for him Yibo would brave it all over again.
Xiao Zhan’s arms tighten around Yibo’s neck. His vitals are spiking and he’s trembling, nearly shaking in Yibo’s arms as his system tries to balance itself. Xiao Zhan had been–afraid, Yibo realizes. Which doesn’t make a whole lot of sense; Xiao Zhan hadn’t had a lot to lose here except–
Except Yibo himself, and that’s twice in the last twenty-four hours that Xiao Zhan has refused to put Yibo down, to let him go when it was easy, when it became convenient.
“We are never doing that again,” Xiao Zhan declares determinedly, and the we warms something in Yibo, something deeper than circuitry or code, something he doesn't have a name for. He licks his lips and when Xiao Zhan’s eyes drop to his mouth he grins; kissing Xiao Zhan had been everything Yibo had ever hoped it might be, except that now he knows that he won’t be satisfied with just once. He thinks that he may never be satisfied, that whatever condition is met by Xiao Zhan’s mouth will never be fulfilled, and once that kind of logical loop might have made Yibo frown but now he can’t seem to stop the grin pulling at his face.
“It worked, though,” he says, and then pauses. “Didn’t it?”
Xiao Zhan leans back, reaching out with one hand; the other he keeps solidly locked around the back of Yibo’s neck and that’s just fine with Yibo. Xiao Zhan returns with a small chip branded with the Company logo pressed between his fingers, and Yibo accepts it cautiously, balancing it between his thumb and forefinger. It feels heavy, outsizedly so. His Purpose had felt the same way.
“Try it,” Yibo says, watching the chip. It was clearly built to run independently of the ship’s power, and while it should be disconnected by now, he wants to be sure.
“I–what?” Xiao Zhan’s voice is lined with discomfort and Yibo looks back at him. “No, I don’t–I don’t ever want to have to say those words to you again.”
“I have to know,” Yibo says, and Xiao Zhan’s face does something complicated before settling into resignation.
“All right,” he says reluctantly. “Wintermelon. Indigo.” He rushes through it as if the words taste bad, and Yibo scans through his systems, looking for any kind of reaction.
“Bolt-cutter.” Nothing, but Yibo can see the fear building in Xiao Zhan’s eyes, hear the effort it takes to keep his voice steady. “Opportunity,” Xiao Zhan says, and visibly holds his breath.
Yibo blinks–
And then grins, bearing down on the chip until it snaps between his fingers.
“I knew you could do it,” he says, running through subsystem after subsystem. Nothing, and Yibo has never been so relieved for a negative result.
“Then why’d you make me say it,” Xiao Zhan grumbles, but the effect is ruined by the way his smile spreads again. Yibo lets the fragmented remains of the chip fall to the floor and wipes his fingers on Xiao Zhan’s pants.
“I wanted to be sure,” he says, ignoring Xiao Zhan’s pointed look at his hand. “And I wanted you to be sure. About me,” he says, and Xiao Zhan’s face softens.
“I am sure. About you,” he says quietly, one hand running through the soft hair at the nape of Yibo’s neck. “Have been for some time.”
Yibo’s cheeks are starting to hurt. “I am too,” he says. “Never had a better pilot.”
Xiao Zhan rolls his eyes. “You’ve never had another pilot. You don’t need–” he stops, as if something’s just occurred to him.
“Zhan-ge?” Yibo rests his hands on Xiao Zhan’s thighs, thumbs stroking over the rough material.
“Hold on,” Xiao Zhan says, scrambling up, and Yibo pouts as Xiao Zhan’s weight leaves his legs. “Don’t go anywhere,” Xiao Zhan says, heading for the cockpit door; as if Yibo could go anywhere, as if he would.
The cockpit seems suddenly quiet without him, even with the fading echo of Xiao Zhan’s boots as he sprints down the hall. Yibo can’t imagine what’s so important, but he pushes himself to his feet, testing his balance. Everything appears to be operable, even with Jianguo winding herself around his legs.
“Hi,” he tells her, and she chirps back. He grins, leaning down; she suffers herself to be picked up and deposited on the pilot’s seat, settling down and tucking her paws underneath herself. Yibo turns back and eyes the remains of the chip on the floor. His Purpose he had dropped into a nearby star; these pieces might go into a deep ocean, he thinks, to corrode and be forgotten.
Before he can sweep the pieces up for eventual dissolution, Xiao Zhan bursts back into the cockpit, handreader and stylus clenched in his grip. He thrusts the handreader toward Yibo, and Yibo accepts it bemusedly, although he feels the smile on his face faltering as he gets a look at what’s on the screen.
He looks back up at Xiao Zhan. “This is the title to–” to me, he almost says, but surely Xiao Zhan knows this.
“Yes.” Xiao Zhan says, holding out the stylus. “Sign.”
Yibo blinks. “I–what?”
Xiao Zhan reaches out and scrolls down to the bottom of the deed of ownership, where a new line has been added. Transfer of Ownership, it says.
There are spaces for two signatures. Xiao Zhan has already signed one.
“You don’t need a pilot,” Xiao Zhan says gently, over Yibo’s instinctive noise of protest. “You don’t need anyone to fly, or make choices. Why not make it official?”
“I do need you,” Yibo says. “I can’t own myself.” Xiao Zhan’s smile softens.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says gently. “And I don’t see why not. It’s what the rest of us do.”
“I’m not human,” Yibo points out, very reasonably in his opinion, but this just makes Xiao Zhan laugh.
“I don’t think that’s a requirement,” he says, still patiently holding out the stylus, like he could offer it forever. Maybe he can.
Yibo cautiously wraps his fingers around the stylus, but doesn’t draw it toward himself. “You love owning a ship,” he hedges, and he knows it’s true because Xiao Zhan does: it’s apparent in every line of his body when they lift off into the stars, leaving the ground behind.
Xiao Zhan smiles, the kind that puts meteors to shame. He lets go, leaving Yibo holding the stylus. “I love you,” he says, like it’s obvious. Maybe it is. “Sign.”
Yibo looks back down at the handreader. He hefts the stylus, hesitating–then he scrolls up to where the line for Ship Name had been left blank.
He’d left it blank on purpose, when he’d forged these documents. He’s not W1B0 anymore, and he’d figured that whomever he eventually connected with might have their own ideas along those lines.
Xiao Zhan had never touched it. He’d named Jianguo, and named her well. But maybe he thinks Yibo already has one.
Wang Yibo looks good on that line, like it fits. Yibo finishes carefully printing his name and then skims to the bottom of the document, signing with a flourish. He blinks, almost dizzy as he pulls the stylus away. Xiao Zhan’s arm slides around his waist, warm and steady as he’s always been. Yibo lets himself lean into it, looking down at his name.
“I made these documents up, you know,” he says, and Xiao Zhan laughs into Yibo’s hairline.
“I know,” he says, pressing his lips briefly against Yibo’s temple. “That doesn’t make them any less real, though.”
Yibo is fairly certain that it does; but that doesn’t stop the giggle bubbling up in his throat, and he feels like he can just about see his way to what Xiao Zhan is saying. He thinks it might help if he kissed Xiao Zhan again–might further his understanding–so he tilts his head up, grinning slightly as Xiao Zhan’s gaze drops immediately to Yibo’s lips.
Yibo bites his lower lip and Xiao Zhan’s hand flexes on Yibo’s waist. Yibo can feel his pulse pounding even from here and he wants to taste it, to press his lips and his fingers to it, to learn all the ways Xiao Zhan’s body will respond.
“That’s cheating,” Xiao Zhan says breathlessly, ears pinking, and Yibo can feel his face breaking into a grin again.
“I am a cheater,” he reminds Xiao Zhan. “I thought you knew that.”
“I do,” Xiao Zhan laughs, and finally, finally he’s leaning down those last few centimeters. Yibo stretches up to meet him, and if he’s smiling too much for a proper kiss then so is Xiao Zhan, but they’ve got time to figure this out. They’ve got time to get it right, now; and while some sacrifices are worth making Yibo wouldn’t trade this moment for any of the ones behind him. Xiao Zhan’s free hand takes the handreader from Yibo’s and flings it into the copilot’s seat so he can pull Yibo closer, and Yibo returns the favor, winding his arm around Xiao Zhan’s neck and leaning into him.
Some sacrifices are worth making, and so are some choices. Yibo had chosen himself, once; he’ll choose Xiao Zhan again and again, as many times as he can.
“The great way is as broad as the clear sky,” Yibo recites, reading the words into the pre-dawn light. “Yet I alone do not walk out on it.”
He pauses, then looks over at Jianguo. “Do you know what that means?”
She blinks at him from the pilot’s seat, slow and content, paws tucked under her body. If she has opinions beyond this she isn’t sharing.
“Yeah.” Yibo settles back into the copilot’s seat, linking his hands together over his stomach. “That’s what I thought.”
Computational theory is still easier, but as Yibo dismisses the poetry file he thinks that he might be starting to make some headway. He likes the way it sounds, at any rate. Jianguo isn’t much of a poetry critic but she’s willing to let him try it out without comment, and Yibo finds that he likes the audience.
Speaking of–
“You can kick her out of your seat any time, you know,” he says, looking over his shoulder.
Xiao Zhan starts guiltily, a smile pulling at his mouth as he pushes off from the doorframe. His eyes are still soft from sleep, his hair tousled from bed and from Yibo’s hands running through it. Yibo’s fingers itch to do it again and he tightens them against his stomach.
This will have been the second night he’s spent in Xiao Zhan’s bed, but the first he’s been awake for; the hours spent learning the shape of Xiao Zhan’s mouth had gone by too quickly, and if it weren’t for the way Xiao Zhan had yawned into his neck Yibo would have been tempted to keep going. Yibo should have expected the crash; adrenaline and even synthedrin wears off eventually, and Xiao Zhan’s body had been through a lot in the last few hours. He had tried to shift away but Xiao Zhan had muttered a sleepy protest, and so Yibo had stayed. He’d watched Xiao Zhan’s face relax into sleep from centimeters away, feeling the chest underneath his rise and fall in a steady rhythm, Xiao Zhan’s hand warm and centering against his back.
He would have been content to stay there until Xiao Zhan woke up again, but in the early hours of the morning Jianguo had apparently decided that since he was awake and had opposable thumbs, he was in charge of feeding her. Yibo had been afraid that her increasing volume would wake Xiao Zhan, so he had carefully extracted himself, settling Xiao Zhan’s hand gently back on his stomach. Xiao Zhan’ s face had creased and he had mumbled something unintelligible, but had just rolled on his side without waking.
“Don’t get used to this,” Yibo had warned Jianguo once he had put her food down. “He’s the one that feeds you.” She had glanced up, licking the side of her mouth, and the smug look in her eyes had told Yibo exactly how likely she was to abide by that.
So. Cat-feeding appeared to be a new part of his morning duties, but Yibo can’t say he minds, not if it means he gets to catch Xiao Zhan watching them with that soft, wondering look in his eyes, like Yibo talking to a cat in the grey light of dawn is anything special, like it’s something Xiao Zhan has been looking for.
Xiao Zhan crosses the short distance between them and rests a hand on Yibo’s shoulder. “She’s fine where she is,” he says, squeezing, and Yibo tips his head back to look up.
“And you?” he asks. He covers Xiao Zhan’s hand with his own, linking their fingers together to feel Xiao Zhan’s pulse beat against his skin.
Xiao Zhan grins down at him. “Never better,” he promises, and Yibo has to tug him down and kiss him, to remind himself that he can now. Xiao Zhan bends easily, and his lips are as soft as warm as Yibo remembers.
Yibo lets him go after only a few moments; not too far, just far enough that he can rub a thumb over Xiao Zhan’s cheekbone, cast in a warm orange. The cabin lightens, painted in oranges and yellows and golds, and Yibo glances out the viewports at the sun emerging from the shadow of the hanging gas giant.
“Sunrise,” he murmurs, looking back at Xiao Zhan. “We haven’t seen too many of those.”
“First of many,” Xiao Zhan says, brushing his lips against the palm of Yibo’s hand. “The first of all the rest.” He straightens, moving behind the co-pilot’s chair, and Yibo nearly protests before Xiao Zhan’s arms settle around him again, folding him back against the seat. Yibo sighs, settling back as Xiao Zhan’s lips press against the crown of his head.
“Where to next?” Yibo asks into the brightening dawn, and Xiao Zhan hums thoughtfully against the back of Yibo’s head.
“Somewhere brilliant,” he says eventually, and Yibo frowns, because he’s not sure how to quantify brilliant. “Somewhere unique. Somewhere brave.”
Somewhere– “Are you talking about a settlement again, because I’m not sure that’s a great idea–”
“No,” Xiao Zhan interrupts, and Yibo can feel the smile pressed against the back of his head. “No, I’m talking about you.”
Oh. “Oh.” Yibo blinks, hoping the hum of his cooling system isn’t audible. “I’m right here.”
“Yes,” Xiao Zhan agrees. “You are. I think you should pick our next destination, and I think that wherever it is will be brilliant because you’ll be there.”
“Are you going to say stuff like this all the time,” Yibo says faintly, pulling up their list of jump destinations. Xiao Zhan doesn’t have subroutines for this kind of behavior, he doesn’t have the excuse.
“Yes,” Xiao Zhan says peaceably. “You’re just going to have to get used to it.”
Yibo thinks that won’t be difficult; but then, very little about Xiao Zhan is difficult. Yibo narrows his eyes at the list of potential destinations, and then points at one near the middle of the list. “There.”
Xiao Zhan leans forward to get a better look, and makes an appreciative noise. “Estho. I like it.”
Yibo dismisses the list, already running the jump calculations. “Have you heard of it?”
“No,” Xiao Zhan says, and Yibo can hear the smile in his voice. “But that doesn’t matter.”
Yibo tilts his head back so he can look Xiao Zhan in the face. “What does matter, Zhan-ge?” The angle makes his voice go breathless, and entirely worth it for the look it puts on Xiao Zhan’s face, fond and exasperated and hungry all at once.
“You already know the answer to that,” Xiao Zhan replies huskily, leaning forward, and Yibo grins into the kiss.
There are planets and settlements and the edges of human exploration to test, but the frontier Yibo is most interested in is right here with his arms wrapped around Yibo, holding him like he’s something precious, like he’s worth keeping.
Yibo does know the answer: everything that’s worth keeping, that’s worth choosing, is right here in this cockpit. It’s not Purpose, or even purpose; it’s something better, and Yibo holds tight and lets it fill him up, lets it bring him home.