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He doesn't know when it started. It could have been one celebration too many where she would take it upon herself to clean up when the rest was passed out. Maybe it was the way she looked at him when he set out to help her. The earnest gratitude in her tired smile. Or the whisper of a chuckle she gave whenever he said "Never again.", when they both knew that they'd get dragged along anyway. She for the catering, he for his reactions and entertainment.
Chongyun was certain about only one thing. His heart sang whenever she was around; and his discomfort soon turned into the biggest comfort. The palpitations that used to choke him when his yang constitution acted up, the heat that made him suffocate, instead invigorated him. Perhaps this was because these feelings were different in nature.
Perhaps it was just her, always and only her, that stood out among his dread.
On the days where the world was screaming at him, he would try to seek refuge privately. Chongyun was the type to simply pretend his problems did not exist to anyone else. That the worst that could happen to him, was his inability to deal with them himself. That if he had to share his troubles, he would immediately perish at the mere thought of it. On the verge of overheating, he would always wear a thin and tightly pressed grimace, trying to convince himself that by holding his breath, it would all go away, just like the hiccups.
But when it came to such days, Xiangling always noticed.
Before the clean up, there was a celebration. When their friends were busy partying, with loud music ringing everywhere, wafting smells, harsh lights, firecrackers and rap battles galore, Xiangling would always notice when Chongyun was retreating into himself. Her hand would then gently hover over his shoulder, gauging whether it was right to touch him or not. Her eyes would flit up to his, regardless of whether his were partially absent or not, and set a tentative mental step forwards. Into his space. The one place where he could not imagine anyone else, not even her most days.
And yet she always stepped forward, came closer, and with a bright smile, asked him if he wanted to go on a walk together.
The air would be crisp against his skin. The way her special qingxin popsicles would be in his mouth, every time she delivered them for free. It would soothe his soul, the way that only truly fulfilling things could soothe one's soul. He would watch her from his peripheral view, her smile never leaving, even though he understood she was worried about him by the way she would accidentally meet his gaze. Her company was one that he treasured as well, one that was not explained by the endless bouts of uncertainty he had regarding the world.
Her company on those short walks around the block, away from the overwhelming noises, onto dirt paths that were only lit by the moon, was another thing that made him question everything. The tinnitus faded, and the buzzing turned into that of a sweltering summer's day, like the one they met on. It would become the conglomeration of all the memories involving her in general.
He worried incessantly about whether he scared her off that first night, when he basically endangered her with his condition. Whether she would think he was a freak of nature, just like most other people do when it comes down to it. If he was not useful in his abundance of yang energy, if he was not funny because of the way he reacted, he would be cast aside.
Yet, his mind would run circles about how to make her genuinely laugh. The way he would often see her laugh when the taste of her food surprises her. Her joyful expression something he could recreate in his dreams, something that haunted him when he tried to sleep. All the ghosts he failed to exorcise came in the form of her, walking close enough so he could feel her warmth through the distance, walking close enough so he could smell the shampoo she used, walking close enough so that he understood that when she delicately reached her hand out to hold his, it was done out of consideration of him, not necessarily her own wish.
The blush on her cheeks could be admitted to embarrassment, or just the cold. Maybe she wanted to warm up his hands because she feared him getting sick, even though ice was in his nature. Xiangling was an enigma in the way she acted sometimes, but she always acted out of personal care. She was the kind of person to cook chicken soup when you were sick and bring it over, still hot. She was the kind of person that would smile despite having the worst day, the kind of person that would care no matter what happened. Even when her expression sometimes fell, and he noticed that she would wipe the sweat off of her brow one too many times for him to consider it "just a small thing! It's no problem", as she would often call it. During such times, he tried his best to lighten the load, even just a little, and then she'd just keep gracing him with her smiles. She was the type to keep on giving, and giving, and giving, regardless of the hell there was to pay for it.
The kind of person he would fall for, exactly. Yet Chongyun knew, when they eventually reached the party and their friends again, the night would be replaced with bright lights and happiness, rather than her softness. He knew, that when push came to shove, she would not try to push his buttons.
He knew, that if he ever admitted to any of the feelings she arose in him, she would only worry whether she was making him uncomfortable.
He wanted to avoid that at all costs; so when the smells engulfed him and her shampoo once more, he would put on a neutral face, with a small smile, and get back to being teased by Xingqiu and Hu Tao. He would let go of her hand, but still guide her and integrate her into the conversation. He would not allow her to fade into the background like she often did, being the constant love and support she was. He would not allow anyone to take her for granted, even if that meant having to be satisfied with what ifs and could've beens and dreams he would never realize. He would always, always, make sure she's loved, given how much she loves in the first place.
Nothing will compromise that.
Not even him.
Xiangling would be lying if she said she was happy most days. She knew that the peppy act would come out automatically, even if she wasn't trying too hard to cover it up. Most people did not pay much attention to her until she was cooking; she was renown for being useful, rather than a person. If one could compare her to a tool, she'd be a spatula, always handy for everything, but never really listed in the recipe explicitly.
Her smile was holding back an enormous amount of fatigue and stress. Working hard to impress everyone with new dishes and innovative tastes, working in the restaurant to help her father, working everywhere she could to make sure nobody around her suffered needlessly. She had three tons of special allergies and needs she needed to remember of all her regular customers, five billion specific orders for high functioning people in the Qixing, seventeen hundred ideas she needed to write down and chase after. The workload never ceased, and she never allowed herself to stop chasing those dreams down.
Who would she be, if not for her passions? Who would she be, if not for her seemingly never-ending fire, that burns? Who would she be, if she weren't defiant in her beliefs, forever rebellious against the status quo?
Probably empty, she'd wonder, during the late night shifts and countless adventures she'd go on. She'd probably never really reach her full potential if she didn't keep pushing, if she didn't want to break society's mould and outlook on things. Li and Yue cuisines weren't the only thing she was rebelling against.
Her entire life consisted of small outbursts of rebellion. She befriended the most peculiar people because they were all extraordinary in some way. They fit in like gloves with her beliefs and passions. They accepted her eccentricities and valued her for something she believed she was. Hu Tao, for her shared passion in breaking the already established notions, whether about death or cuisine; Xingqiu, with his fervent need for growing into his own person, despite his connections to the Feiyun commerce guild; Xinyan, who just simply lived outside of the "norms" by existing as she did; Beidou, the fiercest woman roaming the streets of Liyue; Xiao, the last yaksha, the protector of their peace;
and Chongyun. Chongyun was very special. He broke the norms by just existing, just like Xinyan, and yet, he was so steadfast in his approach to everything. He was so straightforward, so dead set on finding ways to actually fit in, rather than be accepted. When he first came into Wanmin Restaurant, Xiangling had to be honest that she pitied him.
He sat in a small corner, watching the rest of his clan eat and drink without a care in the world. He denied himself even hot water, was careful about even the way he picked up his chopsticks. Such a life of consistent restraint either seemed lonely, or high-strung. She couldn't pinpoint exactly what. Only rumours of possible reasons why came to her part of town. Nobody really knew much about him besides his clan of exorcists. She didn't know him that well to judge either, so she simply went on with her evening, cooking food and serving it to other patrons.
Xiangling's heart almost leapt in her throat the moment he jumped on the table. She was used to rambunctious customers, but nobody actually jumped onto the tables before. The lights reflected his features so that he looked like ice on the lakes in Dragonspine, just enough for her to witness the glimmer in his eyes and the blush on his cheeks. He seemed so demure in the past five seconds, so repressed in his mannerisms, and yet he boldly exclaimed that he would pay a packed restaurant's fees in food.
Of course, the entire restaurant would only cheer at such a declaration.
Chongyun almost sank through his chair as he was coaxed off of the table by his clansmen. Xiangling watched him like a hawk, as he sped off to another patron and chatted them up, immediately swinging arms around their shoulders and laughing so hard she could distinctly pick it out from the crowd. When she walked over to his clansmen to subtly ask whether he actually meant to pay anything, she already knew by the looks on their faces that he was all just talk.
"Don't mind Chongyun," one of them said with a guilty smile, "he just-"
Before she could hear the end of the sentence, she jumped the way she did when Hu Tao... surprised her. Maybe even more than she usually would.
His hands were at her arms and whipping her around to face him. His intense stare did not leave her eyes for a second, before he practically ransacked his pockets with one hand. He was trying to decipher something, perhaps bothered by her face. Maybe she put on too much perfume that night, even though she could swear she used only one meek dab of it.
She didn't have to stay in suspense for long, as he soon slapped (and yes, it did hurt a little, enough to have it tingling for the rest of the night) a charm on her forehead. The shock of it did not hit her, until he left to grab one of his swords. Her bloodpressure really spiked when he took a very messy swing, yelling incoherent ramblings about an evil spirit bewitching him.
The patrons either dispersed, left to call the Millelith officers somewhere on the outskirts of the Harbour, or watched the ensuing debacle unfold with drunken glee. Nobody dared to interfere themselves, given Chongyun's swings were erratic. Perhaps he was trying his best to miss her, or he was too... drunk? desperate? actually bewitched to care much about his aim. Xiangling could only evade; her polearm was stuck in the kitchen, and if he came in there with such form, it'd be like sentencing her pots and pans and plates and cups and teapots - everything you could name that would be stored in the kitchen - to the wrecking of a century. Wooden tables and chairs are easier to replace than china.
And yet, even though the struggle barely lasted more than 10 minutes, before any Millelith or otherwise could intervene, Xiangling did not feel all that threatened. It was easy to dodge, and he wasn't much of a fighter, it seemed. Maybe there was an actual evil spirit on her shoulder, to which he was trying to help her get rid of. Rather than pity, or even anger, when he slumped to the ground and passed out, she recognized his form. It was as if she has never seen an exhausted body before; as if she has never felt the pressure in her joints, the ache in her back, the drop of her stomach whenever she realized she missed one thing. As if she has never seen the falling of someone, even a stranger, even a familiar face, even a loved one- as if she has never seen the act of falling itself.
She watched as his clansmen and the Millelith took him away, and the remaining patrons paid for their food and left. An early night it would have to be, it seemed, and the lights stayed on as she put the sign out to clean. She didn't mind that some didn't pay. She didn't mind that some of the food and drink got spilled onto the floor, that her rag wasn't really able to take out the grease stains from it. She didn't really feel anything at all, until she finally put out the lanterns, and returned to her bedroom with Guoba sleeping in it.
There, she laid on top of her bed, and for the first time in possibly months, maybe even years, she cried wholeheartedly for the boy who was so much like her, who gave her a first rate show to her own troubles. The vigilance, the stress, the entire world. It all came crashing down.
She was so thankful for him, in a way. Even though her father misinterpreted her crying as he rushed with the groceries dropped haphazardly onto her floor. He was almost furious, basically ready to take up arms with Chongyun of all people, before she told him she was okay. That it would be okay; that Chongyun hadn't meant it, not really.
Xiangling didn't open up about her troubles to her father, but she was able to relish in the comfort of his arms for that night after some convincing. The warmth of his embrace reminded her of times when she used to learn how to cook from him, of ladles and her mother's laugh in the kitchen, the aroma of braised meat coming to her senses. The sobbing and the memories became one, and her body shuddered with every heave.
She missed her childhood so terribly. She missed the world before it became an enemy. She missed the world before it became indifferent, rather-
Xiangling missed the genuine her the most.
Another sleepless night would plague him afterwards. Chongyun and Xiangling managed to kindly wake the others up into a half-stupor, so they could wander off into their own beds in their rooms in Wangshu Inn. Only the two of them stayed outside. The small tea tables set out were devoid of their usual candles and patrons, instead leaving space for the two of them to rest.
It was in his nature to consider every option that even seemed relatively possible. The silence between them and the night continued to grow, larger than life, larger than their shared bond, and it reflected the anxiety in the pits of his stomach. It wasn't even the silence that the cold air encapsulated, or the small inconclusive respite, or anything else that made his insides churn. No, it was the way her smile came to a stop.
Xiangling would sigh deeply, using the full capacity of her lungs, and Chongyun would worry in turn. He almost stood up to ask for a blanket. He didn't, in the end, because of the way she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.
Was it tiresome, to look at the world like they did? Was it too much for her to always look out for him, as well as others? He thought he knew the answers to these questions based on the handful of conversations that the two of them had about it. Chongyun told her she didn't have to work herself to the bone every time for him. That it wasn't necessary.
"But it's worth doing it, y'know? You're worth the effort!"
The lighthearted way she said it made him question whether she was really genuine, but given she never went back on her word, he assumed she was telling the truth. That she didn't mind his condition, or his presence, or the workload that came with it. He didn't want to burden her with the responsibility of his own being. That wouldn't be fair to her, but first and foremost, it would not be what he wanted out of it all. It was a secret wish in the depths of his stoic front and anxious being that he not be a burden upon others.
That despite everything, he could support himself without any help.
The guilt would consume him if he let it, thus he didn't think about it often. Yet on a night such as this, and her next to him, sighing the weight of half a planet away, he pondered about it. Chongyun would look away from her face, to the stars, where she would look towards. He would ache for a glimpse inside of her mind. Ache for the world to stop spitting in his face, for the crisp and cool air to stop being freezing over invigorating. He wanted not to be the one that exorcised and dispersed ghosts, but rather the one to show them the way to peace. He wanted to be the win-win situation, the positive result of every negative experience, the happiness found in the contrast between good and evil.
He did not want to subdue, or be subdued. He disliked the very notions of exorcism as they taught him, but he knew nothing else. There was nothing else besides his condition that really shone. He was a plain boy, a plain and straightforward human, with no other interests or qualities besides chasing after ghosts like a game of childish tag. There was nothing more to him, besides the world he has always known from his clansmen. The vanquishing, the prestige, the upholding of the peace.
What did it all even amount to?
The stars would swirl in his vision, like a whirlwind in water, and Chongyun found himself forced to look down at his hands. Those hands that were calloused from the countless times he brandished his sword into a swing. Every stroke of his brush upon the charms, every time he held the carving knife in order to make a talisman. Every single thing he has ever done in the name of exorcism, every memory is linked to hours upon hours of singlemindedly chasing after a goal that could be unattainable. Xingqiu helped him with a different kind of focus on his troubles, but he did not relieve the mere pain of existing like this.
Not like Xiangling did, even in her weakest moments.
"Chongyun."
He heard it only because they were sitting relatively close together, and there was not a breeze to be found in the open air; the cold simply a still-standing chill that dropped down his guard. His mouth would open in response, but he froze when he saw her face. Somehow he never saw how much her eyes resembled Cor Lapis, something he collected out of necessity for his exorcist training. He never noticed how sullen she looked at him, not before she whispered back:
"Why... why do you want to become a real exorcist so much?"
She choked it out in a way. As if the question itself taunted her for a long time, replaying how to ask it, replaying how to even formulate it. It was loaded with more than just one meaning, more than just one emotion. He could notice this. But he did not know the answer to her question, implied or not.
Chongyun turned a bit in his chair to face her. His calloused hands reached out to hold her own, the engravings upon their skin brushing against each other, the history of both of them somehow turning into one story they share with each other. A secret hushed under moonlight, away from crowds and fatigue, away from putting on faces and bravery.
He tried his best to smile, but somehow found tears welling up instead. "I just... I want to... dedicate myself to something."
"Do you enjoy being an exorcist?"
"Maybe. I'm not really sure anymore."
"Aren't you tired then?" She was looking at their hands instead of his face. He assumed she couldn't bear to witness his answer fully. Xiangling was bracing herself for a negative reaction, as if asking about this was something she had no right to do. She had every right to know him, if only she wanted to.
That was possibly the reason what made him steel his resolve. "I am. But aren't you tired as well, Xiangling?"
She was shocked enough to gaze directly into his eyes. Her messy braids almost came undone by the motion of her head, so quickly did she readjust herself. It was a long look of silence, a moment that he could barely register properly. He knew he was right; and the fact that she didn't know what to say to that somehow broke his heart.
The rush of complicated feelings, in which he was certain worry overtook him, came to an end when he noticed her tears slowly leaking out. His hand would reach out immediately, his thumb brushing away those streaks, but he was stuck staring at her. They both couldn't move.
"I..." Chongyun hypothesized she didn't realize that she was crying. "I am a bit tired, yeah."
She retracted her hands from his and hugged herself. "I don't really- I mean, who even does- know. Y'know? Like- what do you even do if you are?"
"People, they- they rely on me, Chongyun."
"Xiangling."
"If I don't keep up, things fall apart. If I don't take care of things myself, it's not going to get done." She rubbed her hands up and down the length of her arms. Perhaps soothing herself. Could he...?
"I know I probably care too much about things nobody else really cares about. Who would make it their life's calling to become a rebellious chef of all things? Nobody besides me, right-"
"Xiangling."
Chongyun was in front of her. He stood out of his chair, and knelt in front of hers. He was hesitant in his approach, but by the time she started demeaning her own passions he knew she cared about so deeply, he just embraced her. Tightly coiled arms around her waist and back, his head on her shoulder. It stopped her from saying anything more than she did. He wasn't certain of the words to say. The way he hugged her was clumsy too. Everything he did was a stumbling mess of uncertainty, but he would steel himself the one moment that she needed strength.
"People care about you. They care about what you care about. You are not... you won't be forgotten or left behind."
She finally clung onto his back. "Do you mean that?"
"I don't know how I couldn't."
A laugh of relief fell out of her, and washed over both of them. It was so easy somehow, leaning on each other, even when most of his instincts scream at him to run from vulnerability. Hers probably did so at an even higher degree. Her face would dip down into the nook of his neck, and they stayed like that until she was done heaving. Perhaps crying even after the relief hit was the only way to really get things off of your chest. Maybe it was just the fact that she was finally letting him in, finally letting him see the moments where she cried unabashedly.
"Jeez," she said with a quick breath, "you really don't have to do this for me."
"But you needed it."
She hummed a little in response. "Maybe."
He gave her one last squeeze in the hug before he let go. Xiangling's hands lingered on his arms briefly, making his face light up in a small, but knowing embarrassment. When he stood up from his knees, he stumbled slightly, almost right into her. Chongyun caught himself on both her armrest as well as the back of the chair. They giggled both at the proximity this gave them, and Chongyun found himself not wanting to leave this bubble of comfort ever again. His stomach swooped and swirled, but the heat wasn't overwhelming at all.
"Y'know, I... I don't even know how to start, but- I don't mind being tired. It can get overwhelming, and it can be challenging. But I never really regret any of my decisions."
He gave an earnest nod. "Your smile isn't just a farce, I know."
"Still! I don't want you to think that I'm just putting up with you or something. As if taking care of you and your difficulties is bad, or taxing upon me. I genuinely don't mind.
"Chongyun, you aren't a burden on me, either."
"Ah," he gave a little bit of a smile to her, "then, I want to become your partner."
"...Partner?"
"Y'know, like, partner in crime! Or wait, no- a confidant! Someone who helps you get through the tough times and everything."
Xiangling gave him a look that Chongyun could swear saw his very soul. She softly shook her head, but not in disagreement.
"Alright. Well, we should go and sleep. It's getting late."
"Oh, uh, yeah."
He stumbled away from her, but the air didn't turn awkward or frigid. He offered her a hand to help her out of her chair, and she took it. Calloused hand against calloused hand, their histories became a story that turned into one they share with each other. A secret hushed under moonlight, away from crowds and fatigue, away from putting on faces and bravery.
They held onto each other until they were forced to part. Chongyun laid down on his bed, and stared at the ceiling for the rest of the night. Another sleepless night did plague him afterwards, indeed.