Chapter Text
For essential reasons, Xinyan's house needs to be perfect today, much more than it usually is.
She gives her elegant windows one more swipe to make them pristinely clear and rearranges the various handmade ornaments that decorate her furniture into a new order that feels more pleasing to the eye. She tries not to think about what may or may not happen, if her very important guest realizes that the interior of her house does not match with how the singer presents herself on stage.
Xinyan stops and slowly breathes as she reminds herself that this is the point.
She wants Xiangling to see who she really is, beyond what she can prepare for others, far beyond what is defined as proper. She wants her to know the things that she doesn't tell anyone else without having to say them right to her face, because being honest, that has never been her strong suit.
Her strong suit sits on a tripod, dust free and ready to be taken into her hands. So that's exactly what Xinyan does, she settles on the sofa with her instrument in hand and begins to tune it in preparation for this afternoon.
She is so used to doing it that her task does not take her too long, rather, it is Xinyan who deliberately prolongs it.
Her fingers traverse all four strings, from the highest note to the lowest and then back. Her expert and self-taught ear immediately detects pitches that are out of tune and corrects them.
Music is as easy as breathing and almost as necessary; she knows scales like the back of her hand, can improvise riffs in less than a second, and yet she just replays each string in a round that doesn't quite find its start or end.
[Mi, La, Re, Sol]
She wants to make sure they sound good for her first date, in case she forgets how to function when Xiangling comes over, and she has to try and teach her how to play.
The artist thinks she can intuit the way in which she will trip over her words, how just today a string will jump from her instrument to give way to the surprise of knowing how Xiangling heart feels.
And it is that Xinyan never expected to meet someone who understood her as she did, or fall so deeply in love with her beloved chef.
It must have been something between the wonderful flavors that made explosions in her mouth or the kind smile that took the singer under her wing on a rainy day. It may have something to do with the golden eyes that shine like cor lapis and reminds her that there are passions other than her own that are ready to stun the rest of the world.
[Mi, La, Re, Sol]
She's not sure when their friendship started, but she’s aware of the moment she knew she was in love with her.
She remembers that the mood was not the best that day, her stage was ruined, her instrument and voice out of tune, wet hair soaking the entrance of the restaurant. Xiangling welcomed her inside, with a towel and hot soup, inside the private area so they could talk.
Xinyan still felt that she was running from the Millelith; a rapid heartbeat echoing in her ears and restless feet under the table. She remembers being afraid to look at her with those sharp eyes she possesses and seeing in her gaze the prejudice she didn't feel like rebelling against today.
[Mi, La, Re, Sol]
"Xinyan," her concerned voice broke the trance she was in, warm hands holding hers and catching her attention, "You can do whatever you want."
"…Excuse me?"
A soft, bittersweet laugh filled the room, "I know that look all too well, and I am no stranger to the challenges you face either."
It clicked on her head, like a key falling into place. She knew what she was trying to do with her music, and shame trembled in her chest as it also meant she knew how she was failing at making it happen.
"...But nothing changes” she defeatedly admitted, “even if I try my best."
“Maybe eventually it will, or maybe never. That does not matter, Xinyan.”
She gave her hand a squeeze, and Xinyan dared to look at her. It was mesmerizing, the warm light over her ever-gentle eyes that took her in.
“There will always be someone criticizing you for doing what you want. Believe me, I know” the chef signaled the soup. slime decorated, as it always was “If it's going to be that way, then why not do it anyway? Whatever you want."
She understood. Right now, what she wanted was to erase the hurt look on her face as she looked at the untouched soup. Xinyan dipped a spoon in, brought it to her lips and relief flooded from how warm it was to see that expression in her face.
She knew then that the chef had cooked up a place deep inside her heart.
She also knew that she preferred to love with her eyes closed rather than open, more in silence than in song, more in the habit that her fingers fall from trying to hold her hand the longest time.
[Mi, La, Re--]
[knock knock]
