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"Don't move, Your Highness. You've sustained serious injuries."
A white-haired god bent over him, holding some sort of medical instrument and carefully examining his arm.
"What... Where's..." Quan Yizhen's voice came out as a hoarse whisper. It hurt to speak. "...shixiong?"
"Ah... You don't remember, do you, Your Highness?.. I'll tell you later, please just relax for now."
Quan Yizhen tried to speak again, but the words wilted and died in his aching throat. Everything hurt. He closed his eyes.
⋆⁺₊° ⋆°₊•𖤓⋆
"...I'm sorry, Your Highness, but his whereabouts are currently unknown. In case of any developments you will be informed immediately."
"Ah. Okay."
It would be alright. The Heavens, with so many deputies and resources at their disposal, certainly could not fail to locate a mortal. Two mortals, more precisely, as Jian Yu had been cast down along with him, and had undoubtedly stayed by his side—shixiong had always liked him, though Quan Yizhen had never understood why.
Truthfully, there were many things Quan Yizhen could not grasp. But shixiong understood, shixiong could explain, kindly, patiently, and Quan Yizhen had long come to trust his knowledge and judgement.
Quan Yizhen exited the Palace of Ling Wen and stepped out into the sunlit street.
It had all been a simple misunderstanding. Neither of them had been given a chance to adequately explain themselves, and rash decisions had been made. That was all. When shixiong returned, he would clarify everything, both to Quan Yizhen and to the Heavenly Court.
It would be alright.
⋆⁺₊° ⋆°₊𖤓•⋆
"There are no leads yet, Your Highness."
"Oh."
Understandable—it was only the third day. News would come soon.
The sun was bright outside, and the golden palaces gleamed in its light.
Why had shixiong been so upset? Quan Yizhen had told him that he had requested for Yin Yu to be included in the martial gods' patrol, but he truly could not see how that could have caused such a reaction. There must have been something else, then.
The Brocade Immortal... Perhaps that was the reason? Shixiong had said there was something wrong with the gift, and Quan Yizhen hadn't believed him—the armour did seem to be in perfect condition, in fact, he had never seen such immaculate craftsmanship before. But why didn't shixiong just tell him it was a dangerous artefact?
He clearly had not meant it to end up in Quan Yizhen's hands, because he had attempted to warn him about it. And besides, what reason could he possibly have had for wanting to kill those heavenly officials, or Quan Yizhen himself? It was absurd.
The image of the white-haired medical master appeared before him.
"Your Highness... He... tried to kill you."
Quan Yizhen didn't believe it. It simply made no sense, and though a lot of things made very little sense to him, shixiong had always been the exception.
He had been angry, and the Brocade had somehow been activated, but surely shixiong hadn't truly meant to?..
It had all been a misunderstanding, he was sure of it.
⋆⁺₊° ⋆°𖤓₊•⋆
"You don't need to come every day, Your Highness. If we find anything, you will be the first one to know."
"Okay."
The street outside the palace glittered with brilliant sunlight. It was almost painful to look at.
"It was no accident, he knew His Highness Qi Ying was wearing the Brocade Immortal!"
"He even gave it to him as a present, I heard."
"It was a misunderstanding," said Quan Yizhen. The gossiping junior officials jumped at the sound of his voice. "He tried to take it back, he didn't mean to use it."
"A-ah, Your Highness!"
"We apologise, we meant no offence! But..."
"Good." With that, he turned and walked away.
⋆⁺₊° ⋆𖤓°₊•⋆
"There are no news, Your Highness," said a tired-looking Ling Wen.
"Why? Is there something interfering with the investigation?"
"No, but rest assured that we are doing everything we can."
"...Okay."
The sun was blinding. It enveloped everything in a strange haze, dulling the senses.
It had been three weeks.
The whispers began as soon as he stepped out of the literature goddess's palace.
"He's still coming..."
"He really doesn't understand, does he?"
It was true: Quan Yizhen didn't understand. Life in the Heavenly Court continued as though nothing had changed, as though the banishment of the martial god of the West was nothing more than a footnote in the endless scroll of sluggishly crawling time, of day, and day, and day again, when the sun slowly rose and fell, adhering to its eternal course.
"To waste so much time and energy on such a vile, despicable person..."
Quan Yizhen stopped.
"Apologise."
"Ah, Your Highness Qi Ying," said the official, stretching his lips into an irritating smile.
"Apologise," repeated Quan Yizhen. Heat was rising in his chest.
"Your Highness," the official snickered slightly, "We know you were close to His Highness Yin Yu, but this is... Well..."
Something was bubbling, boiling inside him.
"Don't bother," cut in another god. "There's no point in trying to reason with him. If he's set his mind on chasing that banished hypocrite to the ends of the earth, let him do it. It's hardly a loss for any of us."
He clenched his fists and his limbs shook.
"Yes, Your Highness, this really doesn't concern—"
Quan Yizhen didn't allow him to finish. A punch connected with the official's face, he toppled backwards and crashed to the ground with a scream. Blood from his broken nose trickled down Quan Yizhen's fist.
"Stop! Someone stop him! Help!" came a terrified shout from the other god as Quan Yizhen strode towards him. He grabbed him by his collar, the god squirmed and vainly clawed at his hand to try to free himself, but Quan Yizhen lifted him into the air and threw him to the ground, which cracked under his weight, and he stilled and lay there motionless, crimson pooling around him.
There were screams, people running from and to him, somebody tried to seize him by the arm, but Quan Yizhen pushed them and jerked it away.
"Qi Ying!" Quan Yizhen recognised the voice of the northern martial god. He felt someone tugging at his arms, and no matter how much he struggled against the hold, they were bent behind his back and he was knocked down to his knees.
"Calm down!" yelled General Ming Guang. "Qi Ying, what's happened?"
"They were talking about that shixiong of his and he just jumped at them!" said one of the onlookers.
Quan Yizhen raised his head and eyed her coldly. "They insulted him."
General Ming Guang sighed.
"Qi Ying, you can't just beat people up indiscriminately, even if you're angry with them."
Quan Yizhen stayed silent.
⋆⁺₊° 𖤓⋆°₊•⋆
Quan Yizhen shielded his eyes as he left the Palace of Ling Wen.
Once again, there was nothing.
The days had stretched into weeks, weeks into months, and it had almost been a year since shixiong's banishment. Yet the sun rose insistently each morning, and its light filled Quan Yizhen's head with a stiff, suffocating noise, an insufferable static that caused his thoughts to blur together, morphing into a lifeless weight upon his heart.
He had never been drawn to the luminaries, and so every night he stayed in his chambers and slept, his heavy curtains keeping out the light of the moon. It was a brief respite from the relentless march of time, where the days bled into one another, like perpetually reopening wounds, burning in the morning and aching insipidly until it was time to sink into the uncomfortably warm sheets, only to wake up the next day and repeat it all over again.
The monotonous routine was sometimes punctuated with flashes of rage invoked by carelessly tossed words. One such flash had left the Grand Avenue of Divine Might marked with craters, bloody gashes in the Heavens' polished skin.
That day, the Wind Master had tutted and shaken his head while General Ming Guang addressed Quan Yizhen with words of reproof, spoken as though he were a child, pettily lashing out for attention. None of them understood anything.
Quan Yizhen had been detained and imprisoned. He had not even tried to defend himself, though the Heavenly Emperor had asked for an explanation. He had known by that point—it was entirely useless.
There was nothing to do in prison, so nearly all his time had been spent sleeping, and during those rare times when he was unable to fall asleep he would repeat to himself the names and steps for the execution of various martial techniques. He would cycle through the forms in his head, recalling the illustrations from the thick, tattered book he had read in the sect so many years ago. It was the book shixiong had used to teach him to read, as nothing less than martial arts could have convinced the single-minded youth to sit down and concentrate on pages upon pages of paper, standing up from time to time, of course, to practice the moves described.
Shixiong... Where was he now?
Upon being released, Quan Yizhen had descended to the mortal realm. Prayers had been piling up, his body craved a fight, and he had grown weary of being trapped in a cell with only his own thoughts for company.
Since then, he would only ascend to ask for information about shixiong. There was nothing else for him in Heaven, nothing but stifling formalities, infuriating, baseless gossip, and the sun, presiding over it all, the ruler of a scorched and stifling wasteland.
The sky was overcast in the mortal realm. Quan Yizhen wiped blood and ashes from his face—he had just defeated a giant wolf demon, and the withering corpse lay at his feet.
Obstinately, mercilessly, the sun was shining through the clouds.
⋆⁺₊°𖤓 ⋆°₊•⋆
Quan Yizhen was in the mortal realm, his hand tightening on a human's throat.
He stood in the ruins of what had once been a stage, the ground around him littered with broken props and set pieces.
"Please..." choked out the man. "We d-didn't..."
Quan Yizhen let him fall to the ground. The man gasped in relief, and then coughed and spat out blood, letting out a stifled cry from a forceful kick in the ribs.
A shout rang out behind Quan Yizhen just as he was raising his fist for another blow.
"What are you doing?!"
He spun around and directed the hit at whoever had called out, but the man caught his arm and swiftly apprehended him.
"Send a healer for the mortals immediately," ordered General Nan Yang, his free hand raised to his temple. "I'll take him back to Heaven."
Quan Yizhen took advantage of his momentary inattention and twisted his hand to escape his grasp. General Nan Yang cursed and let go, and Quan Yizhen lunged at him, forsaking any opportunity to make himself understood. He knew, in truth, that the opportunity had not been there to begin with.
A short struggle ensued, and Quan Yizhen was once again pinned to the ground. His mouth tasted of metal and his own bitter uselessness.
As he was led away, he threw a defiant glare at the general. There was something different in General Nan Yang's scowl, a strange emotion hidden deep inside the creases of his brow. Quan Yizhen didn't have it in him to care.
⋆⁺₊𖤓° ⋆°₊•⋆
With hurried steps, Quan Yizhen entered the dilapidated temple.
It was raining.
The roof had caved in, and a clear puddle was forming at the feet of the weathered statue. One of the statue's hands had broken off at the wrist and was lying on the floor, a sword held tightly in its grip, its blade dulled by years of exposure to the elements; the armour and the billowing robes had lost their lustre, become faded, akin to an old painting capturing a half-forgotten time.
Quan Yizhen had not forgotten.
Raindrops rolled down the statue's cheeks.
Its expression was one of noble pride and glory, but it had none of that softness Quan Yizhen had seen when he had snuck in through the window on a quiet moonlit night and found shixiong lost in thought, a brush in his hand and a placid smile upon his lips. It had none of that tenderness he remembered from the days when he had fallen ill, and shixiong had sat next to him and held his hand, gently dabbing his burning forehead with a cool cloth. It had none of that kindness Quan Yizhen had felt when shixiong would stay by his bedside late into the night, just so he could be there to comfort his little shidi, who would often shoot up from under the covers, roused by yet another nightmare, and melt, sobbing, into shixiong's soft embrace.
The moon had risen in the sky, shimmering above dissipating clouds, its silver disc reflected in the pool below. From time to time, droplets of water fell down from the jagged edges of the hole in the roof, causing ripples to pass across the surface of the flooded temple floor.
Quan Yizhen looked down at his own reflection. His clothes and hair were soaking wet, water was dripping down his face. From where he stood, it looked like the moon was half-hidden inside his drenched curls.
He kneeled and ran his hand over the pool, submerging his skin in the reflected orb of silver, as though attempting to grasp, to reach something. But all he could gather was water, cold water slipping through his fingers.
⋆⁺𖤓₊° ⋆°₊•⋆
Quan Yizhen was lying in his bed.
"I've done all that I can," the medical master had said, "but the beast's venom is potent, and even a martial god such as yourself must rest for a few days to recover."
Everything hurt.
He had arrived at his palace and instantly crashed onto his bed, lacking the energy even to close the curtains and block out the rays of lifeless sunlight, which made every object in his bedroom gleam with an incandescent radiance, filtering through tightly shut eyelids.
Quan Yizhen had always been good at handling pain. His tolerance was high, and his fervour and stamina meant he could fight for hours on end without stopping. This, combined with a martial god's fast regeneration, made injuries easy to ignore. To be tied to a bed by something like this... It was irksome, and it was humiliating.
And yet he had no choice.
His body had not felt so awful in decades. His head throbbed, his slowly healing wounds ached, and his limbs were heavy with a deep fatigue which spread sluggishly through his flesh and bones. There was no hand to squeeze, no soothing voice to lull him to sleep. Only the sun, the pain, and the empty palace.
The Palace of Qi Ying had no junior officials. They would only get in the way.
Nobody would come to close the curtains.
With an effort, Quan Yizhen stood and crossed the room on trembling legs, blanket trailing behind him. A stabbing sensation accompanied each step like blunt knives carving into his feet, and the room around him spun and blurred, brightly lit walls and floor fading into one. He stumbled, and a soft whimper escaped his lips when he hit his injured arm on the edge of the table.
He raised a hand with difficulty and pulled. He must have missed, because he only sensed wallpaper beneath his skin, and his vision had become so distorted he could hardly distinguish his hand and sleeve from the surrounding furniture. There was a persistent throbbing in his head, a wave of nausea rose to his throat, the room began to spin faster, and faster, and faster, and Quan Yizhen gasped for breath as everything around him turned to blinding white.
His eyes fluttered open. He was lying on the floor, tousled curls spilled over his face.
He weakly brushed them away and sat up, first supporting himself on shivering arms and then leaning exhaustedly against the wall. His head still throbbed, though not as badly as before. Pale moonlight was streaming in through the window.
The blanket lay a bit away from him, and he stretched his leg out to pull it closer. He didn't have the strength to stand.
Something was coiling in his gut, stinging his insides, and his eyes prickled uncomfortably. He wrapped himself in the blanket and lay on the floor, feebly clutching the fabric, blinking rapidly, until he finally gave in, and warm, salty tears streaked down his face. He hated this. He hated this, he hated this, he hated this so much.
There was a distant ringing in his ears, and with his head turned away from the door, he thought he could hear it creak. Then, there was the sound of light footsteps, careful not to disturb, not to make any noises which would worsen the headache, and soon a gentle hand would touch his shoulder, and the familiar warmth would bring relief.
Quan Yizhen knew that the room was empty. But he closed his eyes, felt the caress of moonlight on his skin, a whisper of a bygone touch, and at last he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
⋆𖤓⁺₊° ⋆°₊•⋆
The days dragged on, one after the other, and a new autumn came to the mortal world.
That accursed day was drawing near.
Red and gold leaves crunched under Quan Yizhen's feet as he walked down the tortuous mountain path.
Tonight, he would be forced to ascend to the Heavens and attend the Mid-Autumn Festival Banquet, and sit there, surrounded by senseless chatter, meaningless compliments and artificial smiles, and hope that the glass of wine doesn't wind up in his hand.
Tomorrow would be his birthday.
He would receive no gifts or congratulations, and he would not wait for any to come. In the best-case scenario, he would return to his palace and sleep away the muted sting of unwelcome memories, or descend to the mortal realm and sit down on the seashore, watching the trembling spill of moonlight upon the dark waters.
He took his seat and stared at the table. There was nothing interesting in it, of course, it was the same table as ten, twenty, eighty years ago. The moon shone beautifully, as it did during every festival, but Quan Yizhen didn't look up—he didn't want to meet the eyes of other heavenly oficials. For some reason, eye contact usually meant the beginning of a conversation, and Quan Yizhen had no desire to exchange idle pleasantries.
The Wind Master sat down next to him and chirped a cheerful greeting, to which Quan Yizhen replied with a simple "hello". The Wind Master didn't mind. His attention was quickly drawn to some "crown prince", whom he loudly called out to.
Quan Yizhen glanced in the direction of the crown prince, a young man of about seventeen in plain white cultivator's robes. The prince noticed Quan Yizhen as well. After a few moments, he uttered a formal greeting.
The plays weren't bad, at least for the time being. There had been a typical play about General Ming Guang's romantic exploits, and one about the Masters of Wind and Water, which had been instantly cut off by the latter.
The third round put the glass of wine in front of Quan Yizhen.
The curtain rose.
Laughter erupted from the rows of junior officials, while Quan Yizhen sensed the familiar fire in his chest, threatening to boil over, and gripped the glass with a shaking hand.
Nothing ever changed.
Suddenly, a chopstick swished through the air, severing the cord holding up the heavy curtain, and all eyes turned to the crown prince in white.
Then, the glass shattered in Quan Yizhen's hand.
As he threw the shards to the floor and propelled himself towards the stage, he felt nothing but his own blazing fury.
But later, when the dust had settled, he remembered the white-robed stranger.
Quan Yizhen should thank him. Even if the stranger hadn't known, it had been a good birthday present.
⋆⁺₊° ⋆°₊•⋆
The blow was powerful, and warm blood rushed from the wound and into his hair, but it wasn't enough to knock Quan Yizhen out.
And he recognised it. He recognised the strength, he recognised the tone of the voice, the anxious pacing, the grey eyes behind the slits of the mask.
A restless flutter swelled in his lungs as his heart pounded wildly against his ribcage, and he willed his body to go limp; he only needed to wait for a few minutes, a few minutes that were nothing compared to the hours, the days, the years without so much as a single clue. So now, all he had to do was restrain himself for a little while longer, because he knew.
It was him.
⋆⁺₊° ⋆°₊•☾⋆
"I'm sorry, shixiong."
He was on his knees inside the dark tent, covered in bandages, holding a cold hand in his own. The moon peeked in through a hole above, a ray of silver falling on closed, deathly still eyelids, illuminating a pallid face, worn and gaunt, but still so familiar.
"I couldn't even do the one thing I'm supposed to be good at."
He scooted closer.
Shixiong was here, right here in front of him, and even now he was so far out of reach.
"There are ways," the black-clothed calamity had said, a strange glint in his cold, inscrutable eyes.
"His Highness Yin Yu?.." Xie Lian had gazed at Quan Yizhen sadly. "Perhaps..." He had sighed, staring at something far, far away. "Perhaps San Lang will know."
"Where is he?" Quan Yizhen had asked, voice muffled by layers of bandages.
"Oh, Qi Ying..." A melancholy smile. "I wish I knew."
But he would come back, Xie Lian had told him.
"All we can do is wait."
So he was going to wait.
⋆⁺₊° ⋆°☾₊•⋆
The sun was nearing the horizon.
"Qi Ying? May I sit here?"
Quan Yizhen nodded absentmindedly. With a rustle of white robes, Xie Lian sat down on the grass next to him.
"Happy birthday, Your Highness."
Quan Yizhen turned to him in surprise and Xie Lian gave a good-natured chuckle.
"I didn't get a chance to congratulate you at the festival..."
"I didn't go," said Quan Yizhen. "Sorry," he added, thinking he should probably apologise—after all, attendance had always been required.
In reality, he had simply slept through it. Although he doubted he would have come even if he hadn't overslept.
"No need for apologies." Xie Lian smiled. "I understand."
Feathery clouds drifted lazily across the sky.
"How are you?" asked Xie Lian after a while. "Is everything going well?"
"Mhm."
Two years had passed since the fall of Jun Wu. Almost one year ago, the returned Crimson Rain had taught him how to nurture a soul on the condition that Quan Yizhen took back the gold bars he had left at Puqi Shrine. Quan Yizhen didn't understand why both Xie Lian and his husband were so adamant in their refusal of the gold, but he complied anyway.
Yin Yu's body and shackle were being preserved and revitalised, both with powerful artefacts and a steady flow of Quan Yizhen's own spiritual energy. There were a few more steps to be taken in the future; it was a lengthy process, requiring immense patience, but Quan Yizhen would see it through to the end. For shixiong, he would do anything.
The cerulean hues of the sky shifted into soft pinks and oranges as the sun dove beneath the hilltops.
The moon would rise soon.
⋆⁺₊° ⋆☾°₊•⋆
The room was empty.
Quan Yizhen stared wide-eyed at the rumpled bedding, the blanket, which looked like it had been frantically flung off and now lay in a heap on the ground, the incense sticks, knocked over and scattered across the floor.
He rushed to the bed. The sheets were cool to the touch.
The shackle was still there, on the bedside table, but it had been moved slightly, as though someone had picked it up but decided against taking it in the end. The shards of a shattered vase lay strewn near the door at the opposite end of the room. Quan Yizhen opened it and dashed into the hallway.
He ran through halls, richly decorated rooms, across walkways, bridges, the garden, the rooftops. There was nothing.
Quan Yizhen fell to his knees.
Shixiong was gone.
⋆⁺₊° ☾ ⋆°₊•⋆
Rain pelted Quan Yizhen's face.
The days and nights had been almost indistinguishable as of late, the sky obscured by an ever-stretching fabric of faded greys, mixing and melting together. Although, on rare nights, the clouds would part briefly to reveal a slender crescent, and Quan Yizhen would gaze up at the skies and savour the dim, ephemeral glow, and the embers of hope in his heart would flicker back to life.
It had been nine months.
"He doesn't want to see you," Crimson Rain had said, the red eye on his scimitar flashing, when Quan Yizhen had spent a week waiting outside the gates of Ghost City.
"He is well," Xie Lian would say each time Quan Yizhen came to ask him about shixiong's well-being. There was a pained smile on his face which Quan Yizhen did not quite believe.
Once, Xie Lian had found him up on a hill, taking in the fleeting rays of moonlight. He had put a consoling hand on his shoulder and spoken softly of longing, solitude, and understanding.
"When he is ready," the god had said, "you will know. Have faith, Qi Ying."
And now Quan Yizhen's boots were being splattered with dirt as he waded through the muddy village road. The hem of his cloak was trailing behind him in the mud, and wet strands of his hair were being blown about by the wind, constantly getting in his mouth and eyes.
He knew, of course, that the Heavens would offer protection from the elements, that he could return at any time to his own dry and clean palace. But he wouldn't ascend. He didn't want to see the sun again.
There were fewer prayers than usual these days, so Quan Yizhen wandered aimlessly beneath ceaseless showers, through fields, forests, flooded farmland, always on the move; he needed something to do, something to think about, and the sensation of soaked fabric clinging to his skin, though unpleasant, provided a sufficient distraction. He got used to it eventually, but then there were always trees, branches, dirt, tall grass tickling his fingers as he ran his hands through it. Any prayers he would deal with quickly, and then step back into the pouring rain.
He had stumbled upon a weeping willow one day, which grew on the riverbank and stretched its leaves to the water, but couldn't extend them far enough to skim the surface of the stream. Quan Yizhen had stood under it and watched raindrops slip down its drooping branches and fall into the river below.
He had recalled a child, foolish and determined, who had grabbed onto a willow's branch and swung on it, hoping to land on the opposite bank. The branch had snapped, and a young man had arrived just in time to fish the child out of the rushing waters.
Memories brought no peace to Quan Yizhen. He had left the flimsy shelter of the willow and disappeared once more into the rain.
Now the little houses on the outskirts of the village were lost in the haze as Quan Yizhen stepped out into a field. Grasses rustled along with the hum of falling raindrops. Swishing, whispering.
Suddenly, another whisper entered Quan Yizhen's head.
He kept his communication array muted, save for the channel connecting him to Xie Lian, and this wasn't Xie Lian's voice, so it must have been a prayer.
It was quiet, barely audible at first, quivering, uncertain.
A few indistinctly mumbled words. A pause. A sigh.
Then...
"Qi Yi... Yizhen. I'd like to see you."
Quan Yizhen froze.
Then he ran.
The temple was at the foot of the mountain ahead, and Quan Yizhen dashed through the lashing rain, through forests, roads, through endless fields, through streams, with water splashing up to his chest, through branches that scratched his skin and tore his clothes, forward and forward and forward...
He finally came to a halt in another field, a sea of blooming flowers. It was still raining, but softly, quietly, and the clouds had shifted to unveil a luminous sphere of pure silver, fragile petals basking in its glow.
And in the distance, there was a lone silhouette.
Tall and thin, with billowing black robes and a pale, haggard face. Grey eyes, which held the sorrow of many lifetimes, their colour dulled by years of misery and despair, but which despite it all had never lost the tender kindness that had once burned so ardently inside them.
The kindness which had pushed a young cultivator to invite a troublesome little boy to his sect so many years ago.
The kindness the boy would remember for the rest of eternity.
"Shixiong..."
Yin Yu gave him a small, tentative smile.
"Shixiong!!!"
Quan Yizhen rushed forward, petals flying in his wake, and leaped, and the two of them crashed onto the soft bed of flowers, and Quan Yizhen wrapped his arms around the cold, unbreathing, but so wonderfully familiar frame.
"Ah— Yizhen! Don't—"
"Shixiong! Shixiong, shixiong, shixiong..." He sobbed, repeating the words again and again, burying his face in the crook of Yin Yu's neck. "I missed you, I missed you, I missed you so much..."
Yin Yu seized up for a moment. Then he relaxed, and hesitantly put his hand on Quan Yizhen's head.
"Oh, Yizhen..." His fingers were so gentle. He stroked Quan Yizhen's hair, and Quan Yizhen hugged him even tighter, and it didn't matter that his skin was white and cold and there was no heartbeat beneath his ribs, because shixiong was here, finally, finally here.
"Shixiong, shixiong, shixiong..."
⋆⁺₊° ☾𖤓 ⋆°₊•⋆
"Shixiong!"
"Y-Yizhen! Hey!"
Quan Yizhen laughed as he put his arms around a startled Yin Yu's waist and tugged him back into bed.
"Yizhen..." Yin Yu chuckled. "I have to get ready for work."
"Shixioooooong..."
"Yizheeeeeen..."
"Nooo, wait!" Quan Yizhen pulled him closer, promptly thwarting another one of shixiong's attempts to get up.
Yin Yu turned his head to look at him sternly, though the slightly upturned corners of his mouth gave away his amusement. Quan Yizhen grinned.
"Shixiong. You don't have work today, remember?"
Yin Yu blinked a few times.
"Oh... Oh, yeah."
Quan Yizhen's smile became wider, and Yin Yu sighed softly as he brushed a strand of curly hair out of Quan Yizhen's face and allowed himself to be pulled under the covers.
"You win," he mumbled, relaxing.
Quan Yizhen beamed, then tucked his head under shixiong's chin. Yin Yu's body had no heat of its own, so his skin was usually pleasantly cool to the touch, except in the mornings, when a comforting warmth would spread over it after spending the night in Quan Yizhen's embrace.
Yin Yu ran a gentle hand over Quan Yizhen's back, fingers tracing the curve of his spine, moving up to the base of his neck, caressing his shoulders. Quan Yizhen hummed contentedly and leaned into the touch.
They lay there, pressed against each other, legs tangled underneath the blankets, as the darkness of night slowly gave way to the mellow hues of morning.
And Quan Yizhen no longer dreaded the sunrise. After all...
His moon had risen at last.