sheathed swords, forsaken crowns

Rain picks up as if to mock him, so strong and quick that its gale alone is enough to shrink his fireplace into a dim light. Cheng Xiaoshi stares down at it, sullen, and when water trickles even through the overarching trees, he moves to retreat to the soldiers’ tents. At least there are blankets there and the breathing of dozens of men to help fight off the cold.

But Lu Guang stands over him before he gets the chance, his boots squelching under damp earth. When Cheng Xiaoshi looks up at him, he’s blinking slowly like a feral cat. It draws a laugh from him.

“Who dragged this spoiled princess outside?”

(Lu Guang is a prince, Cheng Xiaoshi is a knight, and it's just as terrifying as one would think.)

Work Text:

Like something of a bad omen, they’d discussed it beforehand.

Cheng Xiaoshi hadn’t quite realized it at the time— though not for a lack of guesswork, on his part. If anything, he was a little too on the nose for Lu Guang to still choose not to bring it up.

“A lot of paperwork you have there,” He muses, leaving a clear opening.

Lu Guang feigns ignorance. “Hm.”

“Lots of important, princely papers.”

“Yes.”

“Big papers?”

Lu Guang sets a finished document over a concerningly tall stack before affirming, “Big papers.”

Cheng Xiaoshi gives it a second before deciding on a different approach.

“You’ve been awfully busy, huh, Your Highness?”

A sigh. “When am I not?”

He hums thoughtfully.

And Cheng Xiaoshi is reminded of those long stretches of sun speckled fields, right there behind the castle barracks, Lu Guang’s prim and well-fitted clothes stained with dirt and grime. Back when he could drag him by the hand to weave between the guards’ legs and the reality of their positions seemed so impossibly trivial.

The weight of the sword strapped to his belt grows heavier.

“The kingdom won’t collapse if you take one break, though, no?”

Lu Guang seems to consider this before saying a simple, “Who knows?”

“Lu Guang!” He whines, abandoning his post somewhere behind Lu Guang’s desk in favor of hovering over his shoulder. He thinks he did well today, though. He stood in one place for over ten minutes. He earned this. “These better be life or death papers.”

“They’re important and princely, for one,” He says, pressing a letter closed with the royal stamp.

“Heh. Knew it.” Cheng Xiaoshi mumbles as he props over a leg to sit on Lu Guang’s cushioned armchair.

He casts a glance over Lu Guang’s neatly arranged piles, then pauses over one so comically out of place, open and turned towards him for ease of perusal, that it had to have been on purpose.

Still, he bites, “And what’s this, Your Highness?”

Lu Guang clears his throat.

“The results came in of your idea.”

“The crop rotation one?”

“Do you have any other ideas?” Lu Guang jabs, but he still looks pleased. “The ministers approved it in today’s meeting. You did well, Cheng Xiaoshi.”

Cheng Xiaoshi preens at the praise, sputtering nonsensical words in faux humility. In reality, the method is a simple commoner’s tactic in increasing the output of wheat fields.

He remembers it well: the early mornings uncovering the summer squash with his mother, the horizon line burning against the tips of the wheat. His father somewhere inside, teaching the neighboring kids how to read and write, laughter reaching from behind closed doors.

The memory still aches, so he tucks it elsewhere.

“Would you consider me a genius, then?”

A considering hum. “You’re not quite there yet, no.”

“Well, personally, I think I could even take your place.”

“Cheng Xiaoshi, that’s treason.”

“Not if I’m really good at it,” He shrugs, smug. “I might even allow you to rule along with me.”

He thinks he sees Lu Guang pause. Not quite flinching, but it’s a near thing.

Lu Guang sets down his quill, making the face he does when he’s parsing the words on his tongue before speaking them.

“How generous of you,” is all he settles with.

Cheng Xiaoshi should have taken it all as a sign. But Cheng Xiaoshi already has a list of regrets impossible to outrun, so he will later let Lu Guang’s silence on the matter sting more than his own affliction.

That was a week ago. A full week until he finds out.

“Travelling?” Cheng Xiaoshi speaks around the apple he’d taken a bite out of, keeping in step with his sister. “The full order of knights? To where?”

Qiao Ling halts in her hurried steps, lowering her checklist to look at him fully.

“He didn’t tell you?” There’s something like sympathy in her eyes as she says it carefully.

Cheng Xiaoshi swallows. “Tell me what?”

Sure, Lu Guang doesn’t tell him everything. Cheng Xiaoshi has never held it against him. There are things he shouldn’t be privy to, even as his personal guard. And Lu Guang has always been a fiercely secretive man.

“His… arrangement,” Qiao Ling says. At his continued look of confusion, she adds, softer. “His arranged marriage.”

His world spins, briefly off-kilter.

When he thinks on it, really stops to think, it’s an obvious change. An inevitable one. It’s just like Lu Guang to have a picturesque romance with some ethereal noble woman. He’s a man meant to one day lead the country, and Cheng Xiaoshi is just a knight. There’s no reason for this ugly sense of betrayal.

He must let something slip, emotional thing he is, because Qiao Ling places a consoling hand on his arm, an illogical comfort. Surely she doesn’t understand him either.

“I’m sure he’s as unhappy about it as you,” She sighs, sounding at that moment less like the king’s advisor and very much like his sister. “We have a week until we travel to his fiancée’s country for negotiations. Try talking to him before then.”

For a moment, he feels so very small. Here he is, needing comfort like he did back when the three were kids. This whole thing makes him feel so impossibly young, yet so much like his childhood is well and truly gone, with only him ever being truly stuck in it.

“Okay,” Is all he says through the ghastly beating of his heart.

Cheng Xiaoshi tries, to his credit.

As if predicting it, Lu Guang calls for his post to be changed, so Cheng Xiaoshi is moved to help instruct the newly appointed knights. It’s rewarding work, and Lu Guang knows he enjoys it fiercely, so the hurt is lessened just a tad.

There are times they cross paths in the halls, but even he knows it’s not appropriate to start arguing when he’s surrounded by ministers and advisors and fellow knights.

So when they lock eyes just briefly, he takes the opportunity to stick out his tongue.

Lu Guang rolls his eyes, but just as he thinks that’s it, he sticks out his tongue too. Cheng Xiaoshi is then left alone in the hallway, slack-jawed. Rude! Boorish! Unprincely!

Though thinking back, Lu Guang looks tired. The kind he gets when he doesn’t let himself sleep. When he walked past, for a moment Cheng Xiaoshi could peer through his air of regality and see the exhaustion settled deep in his bones. Maybe Qiao Ling was right in saying he truly wasn’t happy with this.

Though that’s the reasoning side of his brain. The bigger, more illogical one is mad and angry and punching the hell out of this training dummy.

“Um. You dropped your sword,” One of the newer knights points out, gesturing to the wooden training sword he had, in fact, dropped in a fit of unsolicited rage.

“Oh. Yeah,” Cheng Xiaoshi clears his throat as he lets go of the dummy Lu Guang. “That was an example of what not to do. Don’t lose your cool out on the battlefield, boys. The only thing you need out there is your own virtue.”

The boys all nod like it made sense.

“So you lost your cool?” Liang Hua, one of the king’s concubines, now says rhetorically as he finishes accounting the full story to her over tea.

“No!” His own teacup clatters as he sets it down hastily. “Well. Maybe a little.”

If he had any less decorum, he’d whine and groan and reach over to her in an even bigger fit of desperation. As it is, he has some modesty, so he only does the first two. “What do you all propose I do?”

Liang Hua hides her laughter behind a manicured hand. Under the slanted sunlight of the palace garden’s gazebo, her headpiece is strikingly bright, dangling jewels clicking against it as she moves.

And that’s another thing, isn’t it? At one point, Lu Guang will take in beautiful concubines of his own, and the fact shouldn’t be quite so daunting on him.

Song Mei, bless her heart, debates on the matter seriously. “Perhaps you feel as though His Highness is growing distant from you.”

“And your simpler days from childhood are escaping you,” Gui Lan adds over the rim of her cup, wordlessly placing a mooncake over his plate.

“Or maybe as though he’s too secretive,” Liang Hua chimes in. It’s almost like the three are working in sync.

Cheng Xiaoshi takes this all in, nod, nod, nodding. “I see… So I’m just hurt that he won’t tell me anything. He’s always been that way, though.”

(Once.

Just once is when he managed to pry a modicum of truth from him.

He’d been keeping guard outside his room, rushed inside once he heard a bang and found Lu Guang on the floor. Even while sick, even while Cheng Xiaoshi is right outside his door, he’d insisted on keeping it to himself.

“Dummy,” He’d said, lifting Lu Guang back onto his bed, tucking the covers back over him neatly. “You can rely on me, you know?” Then, lower, “Please, rely on me.”

A moment passed where only Lu Guang’s ragged intakes of breath could be heard.

“I’m to be king,” he’d said the words as if it were someone else speaking them, like they'd been engraved somewhere bone-deep. “I am to have no flaws.”

Cheng Xiaoshi lets out a bitter laugh. “Is that what makes a good king?”

Lu Guang swallows. “It has to be.”

A moment passes. Cheng Xiaoshi sits on the bed’s edge and allows himself to reach out, running the back of his hand from the apple of his cheek down to his jaw. Lu Guang is endlessly warm beneath him, breathing in slow and controlled breaths. Like this, he looks so real and boyish, like the Lu Guang he can picture so easily in his mind’s eye.

“You’re good, Lu Guang,” he settles on saying, the surest truth he can manage. “So very good.”

It conveys nothing. But the fierce surety of it burns him, spreading up and up to the tips of his fingers, still warmed from Lu Guang’s fever. He pulls his hand away reluctantly, watches how Lu Guang’s whole body curls in its absence like a moonflower closing, cheek pressing further into the pillow.

There’s silence for too long, and then a hum, but it sounds too noncommittal to not be suspicious. Cheng Xiaoshi breathes out a laugh. Even while drifting to sleep, he’s polite enough to deign him an answer.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” He whispers it, knowing it to be true forever, should Lu Guang allow it.

They didn’t speak of it again. Thinking deeper on it, there’s no reason to leave it unsaid. It just feels like something to be kept cherished, where he alone can take it out when it’s quiet at night.)

He’s snapped back to the present when a hand is placed over his own, something soft and caring in the gesture. “Please, try not to agonize over it on your own. Speak to your friend, clearly. Honesty is always answered in kind.”

There are nods and hums of approval, and Cheng Xiaoshi feels a little warm from it all. Like it’s something his mother might have said, had she still been around.

He offers them a bow, “Thank you, royal highnesses.”

When he raises his head, they offer him subtle looks of fondness, and it’s then the embarrassment of it all really kicks in.

“Please, stay for another round of tea. You have yet to tell us of the new knight recruits.” Another cup of chamomile is poured for him before he gets the chance to agonize over it.

So Cheng Xiaoshi sighs and does just that, knowing a trap when he sees one.

The day of departure arrives, and any lingering awkwardness was left under the impending need to tease.

“Looking good, golden boy,” He whistles as Lu Guang arrives, garnering a few looks of disapproval.

Lu Guang’s cloak is billowing in the chilly winter evening, intricate golden patterns weaved into navy blue attire and ruffled shoulder pads. He’s truly dressed to impress, even though they’re only estimated to arrive for another fortnight or so.

Lu Guang bristles at the attention, as expected. Cheng Xiaoshi grins from atop his horse, even long after he watches him step into his carriage adorned in gold and comically slam it shut, an intentional thud. The sound only makes him laugh harder.

They set off, guards following from each side atop their respective horses in an easy trot. Cheng Xiaoshi had to force his way into the spot beside Lu Guang’s window, inching closer until the previous guard had no choice but to relent and move away. He is nothing if not resilient.

“Lu Guang,” He whisper-shouts into the closed curtains of his window. “Lu Guang. Lu Guang. Lu Guang Lu Guang Lu Guang Lu Guang—”

The curtains open to reveal a displeased Lu Guang. “What.”

What, indeed. He hadn’t quite thought it all through.

“Hang on, I’m thinking.”

He closes the curtains.

“Come back! I’ll even address you properly, I promise!”

The curtain is pulled open just a tad, enough to peek a suspicious eye out of, as if to assess Cheng Xiaoshi for his sincerity. It makes him a little fond. Maybe he missed the man more than he thought. And he did, truly, think it.

“No need,” Lu Guang opens the curtains fully with a grumbled, “What is it?”

Cheng Xiaoshi buys himself time by clearing his throat.

“I just think it’s funny,” He’s looking off into the thicket, lips pursed petulantly, “That you can resolve diplomatic treaties just fine, but not a little discussion with your friend. WWQLT?”

Lu Guang just looks at him. Then, “...'What would Qiao Ling think’?”

This makes Cheng Xiaoshi look at him, head swiveling from the shock. “Yeah! Woah! You’re good!”

Lu Guang turns his head away from view and takes a deep, audible breath, before looking back, face properly deadpan.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m your favorite,” Cheng Xiaoshi says, smug.

“Hm,” He hums, then, “Where’s your coat?”

“A little riding will scare away the cold, Your Highness.”

“Next time, wear your coat.”

“Such a worry wart,” He starts, hesitates, then tacks on, “Your wife-to-be will be quite pleased.”

Lu Guang goes silent for a beat. “I suppose.”

A moment passes. Cheng Xiaoshi holds his breath around it.

“And you?” He tries to sound casual as he says it. Casual should be fine. Casual should do. “Are you pleased with all this?”

The distance from his horse to the carriage seems to stretch indefinitely. Lu Guang looks away quickly, brows furrowed. If Cheng Xiaoshi were the slightest bit closer, he could reach out and poke through the crease, watch Lu Guang melt with the touch, the way he would when Cheng Xiaoshi has to pry him away from work. Though he’s not sure if Lu Guang would allow it now.

A sigh. “No more on this,” Lu Guang closes his eyes. Turns away. “Please.”

He does not close his curtains. Maybe he knows he doesn’t need to. The rejection is not said unkindly, and he tries not to let it sting. Lu Guang is hurting more.

They speak no more on it.

They arrive at their first pitstop around sunset, a small village, one not unlike his hometown. The street vendors are busy lighting lanterns, and curious children hover a safe distance away, watching the carriage pass with wide eyes. Cheng Xiaoshi offers one of them a wave, and the little boy hides behind his mother’s skirts.

When Lu Guang emerges from his carriage, his eyes are puffy with sleep. Cheng Xiaoshi makes no comment on the unruliness of his hair, since that would make him want to fix it, and that would certainly be a tragedy.

Cheng Xiaoshi offers a hand to help him down. Lu Guang gives him a look, but humors him anyway. Despite it all, he grins so wide his cheeks ache with it.

“Careful, princess, the ground is freezing.”

“Hnhrg,” Lu Guang replies, intelligently.

Lu Guang’s hand is warm, even though he’d taken his gloves off sometime upon arrival, just as Cheng Xiaoshi had. He sees the man’s fist clenching as he walks past. A convulsive flex, maybe.

The inn must have been expecting them, since accommodations were provided quickly. The two ascend the steps along with the rest of Lu Guang’s entourage and a very eager innkeeper, who guides them to a fairly luxurious bedchamber, by his standards.

Lu Guang shuffles inside, shutting the door behind him without pause. Cheng Xiaoshi guards it for the better half of that night, helpless.

In the morning, Qiao Ling sneaks the two into Lu Guang’s quarters through sheer willpower and aura.

“It was through my position, Cheng Xiaoshi,” she corrects through a mouthful of meat.

“Same thing,” He shrugs, stealing some from her bowl, despite the hotpot being perfectly accessible. He tries to silence her complaints by stealing some from Lu Guang’s instead, but Lu Guang catches his chopsticks between his own, if only to be petty.

Their chopsticks swordfight for a bit before Lu Guang’s are rendered immobile, so Lu Guang wordlessly allows the shameless display of theft as compensation.

“Technically, we should be discussing travel expenses, since that’s the excuse I gave,” Qiao Ling says, entirely used to them.

Lu Guang looks up from his bowl. “Should we?”

The resounding silence speaks for itself. Lu Guang just passes Qiao Ling more meat.

“The other advisors must be furious!”

“Well, I tried to be nice and subtle about it,” Qiao Ling taps her chopsticks against the bowl in thought. Tap, tap, tap.

“We can see how successful that was, then.”

She kicks him, the wide spread of side dishes arranged over the table jumping in place as Cheng Xiaoshi retracts his leg, hitting the edge of it with his knee in a loud thud. Some of the broth sloshes over the rim of his bowl.

“No fighting during breakfast,” Lu Guang remarks pristinely from the head of the table, the totalitarian he is.

“After breakfast is fair game, then.”

Lu Guang sips his tea, but doesn’t disagree, so fair game it is.

“Urgh, whatever. I just hope no more strange rumors spread when they see us leave,” Qiao Ling adds, offhandedly, bowing her head to slurp the broth from her bowl.

“Rumors?” Cheng Xiaoshi asks. “Of us fighting?”

“No, doofus. Some gossiping nobles think me and Lu Guang are— secretly together, or something,” Qiao Ling’s nose wrinkles, “No thanks. No offense, Your Highness.”

“None taken,” Lu Guang thinks on it more, then, “Though I’ll have to exile you. No offense.”

“None taken. Though that’s an abuse of power.”

Lu Guang shrugs, noncommittal.

And Cheng Xiaoshi is too deep in shock to laugh. Lu Guang and Qiao Ling, together? Never has the thought even crossed his mind. Sometimes, late at night, he’d imagine him with a pretty noble hanging off his arm, a faroff princess, a more distinguished knight. Never someone so tangible. And it’s not as if the two ever expressed any interest, either.

Qiao Ling and Lu Guang are murmuring something or other as he says, mindlessly, “Aren’t me and Lu Guang a more realistic couple?”

Instant silence. He thinks a fork might have dropped.

He looks up from his bowl as the two stare, his own words fully sinking in, “Who said that?”

“You,” Lu Guang says, blinking. “You said that.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You did.”

“Okay, I might have said that, but it was— a moment of weakness.”

“Weakness,” Lu Guang repeats to himself, incredulous.

“It was a valid concern!” His face, he knows, is red and raw as a burn. “You guys are weird. I’m finishing the meat this time,” he says, shoving an entire lettuce wrap into his mouth to avoid speaking. He doesn’t want to know how ridiculous he must look, so he just storms off, cheeks still full.

They’re set to leave quickly after, with no time to explore as Cheng Xiaoshi hoped. They don’t talk about the arranged marriage, either, but a part of him is glad. He’s not even sure what it is he would say.

As they’re idling outside, Lu Guang busy discussing the final arrangements while Cheng Xiaoshi stands listlessly to the side, the boy from before trots up to him, pulling at his pant leg much like he had with his mother’s skirts. He is immediately captivated.

“Hi there!” Cheng Xiaoshi says, crouching until they’re at eye level. The boy looks from him to his sword, tucked safely inside its scabbard.

“Do you know how to use that?” He says through a mouthful of thumb.

“I sure do!” He stands up to strike a pose, one hand on its hilt and another on his waist. The boy looks to be a little in awe.

“My dad is a knight, too.”

“Yeah?” Cheng Xiaoshi crouches again, ruffling the kid’s hair. “Your dad is really cool, huh?”

A hint of teeth peeks through his smile, and Cheng Xiaoshi’s heart aches so much he’s fit to burst with it. He remembers being this enthralled with his parents, before only the memory of them remained.

His mother comes running with a clear urgency, scooping the child in her arms and apologizing with a low bow. Cheng Xiaoshi laughs her off, and the two get to talking about the increasing price of fruits and the latest fashion trends and difficult household chores until the sound of trotting horses makes him excuse himself.

His eyes unconsciously search for Lu Guang only to find him already looking. For a moment, he’s locked into place by the softness of his gaze. He doesn’t know who could ever think he isn’t an expressive person. How he, himself, could have ever thought him to be made of sharp corners and jagged edges.

A soldier passes and Lu Guang is already ducking into the belly of his carriage, and Cheng Xiaoshi can almost trick himself into thinking it never happened.

Cheng Xiaoshi is nine years old when his life is taken from him.

The only life he’d known, that is. His farmhouse. His village. His parents.

He only ever carves a place for himself due to Qiao Ling’s friendship, and her parents’ benevolence. He was mocked endlessly for it by the knights in training his age, and quickly had to grow used to occupying space without the tether of Qiao Ling’s parents holding him there, adoptive or not.

Still. It was better than staying another day in that empty farmhouse, surrounded by distant family fighting for their share of the plot of land that was once his. Sometimes he thinks of what must have become of his home, though never for too long.

It was him alone who climbed the ranks, though he never stopped wondering if he’s truly earned it.

Others say he befriended Lu Guang through dumb luck, but he knows it to be more than that. Self indulgence, for one. Selfishness, another. Or perhaps it's as simple as two boys who found each other at the right time.

“That doesn’t look fun,” He says to a tiny Lu Guang, sat by a too-tall tree to read his book. Cheng Xiaoshi is sure he can stack at least ten adults over each other, and still they wouldn't reach its peak.

Lu Guang doesn’t even look up at him. “Does it have to be?”

“Well,” He makes a contemplative noise. “Something’s gotta be fun for you, right?”

“That's childish,” He says, unironically, to a boy his age.

Cheng Xiaoshi just looks at him. This boy has never had his life taken from him, but maybe he’s never known what it’s like to have a life of his own at all.

Maybe he can breathe life into the both of them.

“I can teach you.”

This makes Lu Guang look up, furrowing his brows in question.

“How to be childish!”

Lu Guang makes a noise of pure, unabashed terror as he’s pulled to his feet, unaware those hills behind the castle barracks and the seemingly lifeless boy would be the ones to heal him.

Almost a week of travel passes when the chill starts to truly creep in, and even resting his hands by the fire isn’t enough to chase it away.

Rain picks up as if to mock him, so strong and quick that its gale alone is enough to shrink his fireplace into a dim light. Cheng Xiaoshi stares down at it, sullen, and when water trickles even through the overarching trees, he moves to retreat to the soldiers’ tents. At least there are blankets there and the breathing of dozens of men to help fight off the cold.

But Lu Guang stands over him before he gets the chance, his boots squelching under damp earth. When Cheng Xiaoshi looks up at him, he’s blinking slowly like a feral cat. It draws a laugh from him.

“Who dragged this spoiled princess outside?”

Lu Guang grumbles. “It’s cold,” he says, as if that explains anything.

“Yes, that’s the joke.”

“I know that’s the joke.”

He snorts, “Then what is it?”

Another second passes.

“Come into my tent. It’s warm.”

Cheng Xiaoshi startles, but he supposes it makes sense. Lu Guang hates the cold, and there’s no one else he trusts enough to help stave it off. There’s Qiao Ling, but that might stoke the fire of their weird rumors, so. Cheng Xiaoshi it is.

“You don’t mind?”

His brow twitches. “I’m inviting you, so just be grateful.”

“Oh mine glorious, benevolent ruler, I thank thee for thy charitable invitation. How’s that?”

“It’d be ‘thanketh’,” Lu Guang corrects offhandedly. His brows pinch further. “Come on, it’s cold.”

So the two hurry back into Lu Guang’s tent through the sudden downpour. They even pass by a bewildered advisor, one of the older, more stubborn ones neither he nor Lu Guang particularly like. He’s also Lu Guang’s favorite topic of gossip, though Lu Guang himself will never admit to it. Cheng Xiaoshi blows the advisor a kiss before stepping inside, much to his wide-eyed chagrin.

But then comes the problem he hadn’t truly considered: in order to share heat, they have to share a bed as well.

The two kick their boots off in a corner, and Cheng Xiaoshi busies himself by clicking off his layers of armor with a relieved sigh. Lu Guang resolutely does not look at him, and it makes him suddenly aware of him, too.

So they change with their backs to each other, the only sound being the rustling of fabric, but Cheng Xiaoshi is shirtless before he realizes he has no actual clothes to change into.

“Lu Guang,” he says. Lu Guang looks at him, then quickly away, as if he’d forgotten just as well. “I didn’t bring my nightwear.”

“Use this,” He says from another corner of the room, and in the next second a shirt is flung at his head.

“A warning would be nice!”

Lu Guang shrugs. He can’t see it, but he knows he does.

“What would you do if I’d just slept naked?”

“Kicked you out.”

“You can’t kick me out after inviting me in!”

“I can do what I want.”

Cheng Xiaoshi changes into the violently offered nightwear, muttering tyrant and meanie under his breath all the while.

They blow out the lantern and settle into bed as best they can. But Cheng Xiaoshi has never been one to sit still, even moments before sleep. He shifts to one side, restless and jittery, then another, still unsatisfied.

There’s a rustle of fabric, then a ghost of a touch over his arm. When he stills like a caught prey animal, the touch pulls back as if burnt. Perhaps this is the part where Lu Guang kicks him out. From the way the loud beating of his heart feels too revealing, it may as well be a blessing.

In the dark, Lu Guang is just a shape and a warmth, a dip in the mattress. For a minute, all Cheng Xiaoshi does is watch his well-known silhouette, familiar even throughout all the years.

Then he’s reaching out too, blindly feeling for his hand over the mattress, grabbing hold once he finds it. Lu Guang shivers imperceptibly.

“Are you cold, Your Highness?” He asks, unsure why he calls him that. Maybe for a semblance of distance between them. “Curse them. I’ll summon summer all year long for you.”

It takes a beat. Then, “The ecosystem will fall out of balance. The people will miss the harvest.”

“I can hunt. I’ll provide for you.”

“You’ll make our diets unbalanced. Too much meat.”

“I’ll hunt fruits, too.”

A huff of laughter sounds.

“I believe that is called gathering.”

“Not if I shoot them down.”

A humoring, half-asleep hum. “And why would you do that?”

“Because it’s sexy?”

Lu Guang manages a sound that’s half a grumble and half approval, and Cheng Xiaoshi laughs louder than the hour allows. Lu Guang does not scold him for it. If anything, it seems to make him sleepier.

Cheng Xiaoshi is convinced that if he were to split open his ribcage, this ugly, forbidden bile he feels would overflow through the sides. Even still, in the splintering rain, and because Lu Guang allows it, there is a place for Cheng Xiaoshi beside him, between these makeshift walls and rubbery roofs. It shakes and shivers, but it keeps.

“Goodnight, Lu Guang,” He whispers against the sanctity of their silence. For a while, Lu Guang doesn’t react beyond his breathing slowing, as if only now that Cheng Xiaoshi decided it, is he allowed to sleep. He loves him terribly for it.

And what a thought that is, towards an engaged man. Cheng Xiaoshi grows sick with it, too selfish to not indulge in it. And it’s a terrible sweetness, bordering on rot; a branch so heavy with fruit it cannot bear to do anything but dip to the ground.

So Cheng Xiaoshi thinks of this instead: Lu Guang, bare of his usual eccentric jewelry, of his flashy title and various duties. In this space where he is allowed to be Lu Guang, and him, Cheng Xiaoshi. Where he can close his eyes and trust, irrefutably, that Cheng Xiaoshi will keep him safe, alone with the softly beating flesh of him.

Where Cheng Xiaoshi can tuck this trust somewhere close, in the later years where it will not matter anymore.

Overnight, the heavy rain gives way to heavy snow, and Cheng Xiaoshi is rushing to tell Lu Guang about this very important thing that was happening.

“Lu Guang,” he says excitedly, ducking back under his tent’s fold that serves as a door without thought.

Lu Guang turns, wrapped in what looks to be five or six different layers of winter clothing, twice the amount from yesterday. Rather incredibly, he’s round. Cheng Xiaoshi catches the first snort, not so much the second, and then he’s laughing, belly-up.

“It’s not funny,” Lu Guang says, but it’s muffled from his scarf, which just makes him laugh harder.

“Lu Guang, you look—”

“Don’t.”

“Silly!”

Lu Guang just huffs without retorting. Maybe he knows how silly he looks, he must. The man has always hated winter, and being cold, and Cheng Xiaoshi knows this to be true. Lu Guang is always meant to run warm.

“Seeing how dressed up you are for it, look!” Cheng Xiaoshi holds up the door, gesturing to the layer of snow already coating the ground, beginning to pile up even over his own footsteps, from just a minute or two ago.

Lu Guang frowns. “That will make travel a lot harder.”

Ah. Thinking back, the advisors didn’t seem nearly as pleased with the snow as he was. That would explain it….

“Well, they won’t hold it against us if we’re the tiniest bit delayed, will they?”

Lu Guang considers this for a bit, and his responding hum sounds almost pleased.

“Surely, they won’t.”

“Right?” Cheng Xiaoshi steps outside to kick at the snow, taking large steps so as to leave perfect footprints over it. He will not be making a snowman, because he is in a privileged position and is also an adult. Though the urge to simply fall face first into it is tempting.

Despite this, Lu Guang steps outside to chide, “Don’t be childish.”

“I’ll have you know I’m holding back!” He says, just as an audible gale pushes into every chink of his armor, and he shivers.

Lu Guang looks him up and down. “A few more layers would do you good,” he says, offhandedly but smug.

“Thank you, my sensible prince.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Would you still thank me if I lobbed some of this snow over your head?” He’s already crouched and patting at a ball of snow, which is half a threat in itself.

“Suddenly your skills will not be needed anymore. That advisor from yesterday will be pleased.”

Dejected, Cheng Xiaoshi tosses his freshly made snowball onto Lu Guang’s feet, which just makes Lu Guang kick up snow in his face in retaliation.

Later, the soldiers and servants busy themselves collecting the tents as Lu Guang hides away in his carriage, much like a shivering mouse in its burrow. The horses trudge through what soon becomes ankle-deep snow as they set off much slower than usual.

At one point the road was passing close to the precipice, allowing them a view of an abandoned valley below, empty houses and a wide wheat field drooping under the weight of falling snow. Lu Guang had been tucked deep into the carriage, all hidden away, but now his face is pressed to the lattice of the window, peering at the scenery.

“Was your home anything like that one?”

His window is open just a slither to afford conversation. Cheng Xiaoshi smiles down at him. “It was livelier.”

Lu Guang hums like that makes sense, and his window is left open all the way until the valley is long gone from view. As if to allow Cheng Xiaoshi a chance to speak, if he’d wanted.

The sky darkens considerably before it’s decided the road is near impossible and too dangerous to follow, even with all the lanterns lit, and especially near the cliff’s edge. The horses slow to a stop near what’s deemed a safer clearing, and Cheng Xiaoshi ties his around a tree along with the other soldiers’.

Lu Guang comes bumbling out of his carriage, eyes red rimmed with sleep. It makes him smile.

“Here to see what us peasants are up to? Stay in the carriage until we set up your tent, silly.”

Lu Guang nods, but doesn’t move.

Cheng Xiaoshi turns to look at him fully. “Have anything else to say?”

“Ah,” Lu Guang says, as if surprised to be caught. “Are you cold?”

“A little,” He shrugs, though he is a lot colder than he’d been just hours ago. “Why? Here to lend me all thirteen of your layers?”

“Four,” Lu Guang corrects, his eyes skirting from him to the carriage and back. “Come inside with me.”

He falters. “Lu Guang,” He says, tampering down what must be a fond smile that will give himself away. “I’m a knight, silly. There’s no place for me in there.”

Lu Guang’s brow twitches like he wants to say more, but then Cheng Xiaoshi’s horse whinnies, dipping its neck and shaking its head. When he turns to look, its ears are pulled back, and it’s struggling to pull free from the reins tied to the tree.

Instantly, he’s on high alert.

“Lu Guang, go back to the carriage,” He says urgently, already pulling at his sword, but it’s dark and the other knights don’t react as quickly when the arrows start flying.

A faroff soldier is struck, and Cheng Xiaoshi only hears the scream and the body dropping. There’s a chorus of yelling and swords colliding around them, and Cheng Xiaoshi presses as closely to Lu Guang as possible, if anything, to serve as a shield.

“Go!” He says, but there’s only so fast Lu Guang can go on rough terrain.

Even still, once they’re close, there are already bandits snooping around the carriage, the driver struck dead in his seat, knights struggling to fight them off.

“Protect his Highness!” One of them says, as the rest yell out a resounding battle cry. They must think he’s still in the carriage.

The bandits don’t notice them. Cheng Xiaoshi backs up slowly, arm pressed in front of Lu Guang, if only for the security that he’s still there, still breathing. Lu Guang yanks off the outermost layer of his winter clothing, the gaudiest and showiest one, to attract less attention, letting it fall to his side.

“Through the trees,” Lu Guang says, just above a whisper, and Cheng Xiaoshi nods.

They wind through the cover of the trees, but it isn’t easy. The soft snow below hid arid earth, stones as sharp as razors and thin layers of slippery ice. They find a semblance of balance between urgency and picking their way carefully, testing almost every step before giving it their full weight.

The sounds of fighting are lost to the rising wind. Cheng Xiaoshi doesn’t doubt the capability of the full order of knights for a second, but he also knows the bandits wouldn’t pick a fight unless they were equally high in numbers.

“Careful,” Lu Guang calls out, and Cheng Xiaoshi turns back to make sure he's alright, only to watch in horror as he loses his footing down a snowy slope.

Cheng Xiaoshi doesn’t think twice before running after him. The moment hangs in the air. He catches Lu Guang’s look of panic just before he goes sailing over the edge.

He catches him, and then they’re falling.

Cheng Xiaoshi remembers nothing of the fall besides his grip, impossibly tight over Lu Guang, even as he’s smacked into the mountainside over and over. He falls against an incline, still steep, and skids for a good while. Sharp debris tears at his skin, finding openings in his armor.

It takes a second for him to come to. The world is white and red and blurry. He opens his eyes.

First there’s the realization, then the gasp. He feels around blindly for Lu Guang, an almost animal cry tearing from his throat. He didn’t hold on tight enough. The thought feels too painful to bear.

He gathers himself to his knees with a series of pained grunts. “Lu Guang!” He cries, to no answer. The cliff looms hauntingly overhead.

Cheng Xiaoshi allows himself just a moment to collect himself, breathing in the too-cold air through his mouth as he sways to his feet. There was no answer, but it’s not all bad. At least it means the blood on the snow is entirely his own.

For a moment he’s just standing there, searching. Then: another disturbance in the snow, a diverging trail a bit further down from his own. His sluggish feet nearly give way in his hurry to reach it.

Lu Guang’s hair is blending almost seamlessly with the snow. In other circumstances, Cheng Xiaoshi might even laugh, saying if he were any more pale, he’d lose him in it. As it is, he falls to his knees beside him, lifting his head off the snow gently, so gently.

Lu Guang doesn’t wake, doesn’t even stir, but he’s breathing. For a while, Cheng Xiaoshi only has the strength to lower his head to that pulse point, feel that beat beneath his forehead, willing himself to breathe along with it.

“Lu Guang?” He whispers at last, half of it broken, and all that answers is a whipping maelstrom of wind and ice.

It is the spring they turned fourteen, after a long winter spent indoors.

They’re under that too-tall tree, Lu Guang reading on a soft patch of moss, Cheng Xiaoshi sprawled awkwardly over the protruding roots. The sun has just reached his ankles, but the rest of him is under a cool shade, still in that lingering bite of winter chill.

“—And when autumn hit, my mom and I would visit the neighboring pumpkin patch, and I’d always manage to pick the ripest one. She said I have a talent for it, but I’d really just pick the one that looks the coolest.”

He’s saying, and Lu Guang doesn’t respond, doesn’t usually, but whenever Cheng Xiaoshi stops speaking there’s always an inquisitive hum, or a gentle nudge of presence, or a quiet And then what?, so Cheng Xiaoshi knows he’s listening.

“And then?” He says, on cue.

Smiling, Cheng Xiaoshi sits up to crawl over to him, taking the time to just watch him. Lu Guang’s face is somehow smooth, without the blotches and spots that have begun to afflict the other boys. And yet there’s still a boyish charm to him, his cheeks just shy of taking on a sharper edge. He pokes it, just to rile him up.

“Stop that.”

He keeps poking it, faster. A hundred pokes per minute.

“How’d you get your skin so damn soft?”

“Mother says mature boys grow faster,” Lu Guang says, a pinch of smugness to it.

Cheng Xiaoshi rubs and pinches his own cheeks, still with that lingering chub.

“Well that can’t be right.”

“No, that is exactly right.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean, huh?!” Offended, Cheng Xiaoshi goes back to his vicious poking.

Lu Guang grabs hold of his offending finger and says, “You’re disrespecting your future employer.”

“I dunno,” He hums, pretending to think long and hard, “Your younger brother was awfully nice to me yesterday…”

“He’s six,” Lu Guang deadpans. “How about you work on beating me first before choosing who to work for?”

“I beat you just this morning!”

“Beating me in an eating competition that you made up should not count towards our score.”

“It should absolutely count towards our score,” Cheng Xiaoshi crosses his arms, suddenly smug. “You’re just mad I beat you.”

Lu Guang’s brows furrow at the words in his book, as if he hasn’t been stuck on the same page for ages.

“I couldn’t care less about the score.”

“Oh? You’re very defensive for someone that doesn’t care,” Free from Lu Guang’s evil clutches, he goes right back to poking him, from his cheek all the way down his arm.

There’s a slam of a book, and Cheng Xiaoshi is tackled to the floor.

For a minute they’re nothing but a messy heap of limbs on a warm spring day, tussling in the back walls of a castle that almost feels like home, and Cheng Xiaoshi laughs, dizzy with the feeling.

Lu Guang has grown less rough around the edges, but play fighting has never been his strong suit— no, he’s too much a city boy for it. He tries to get the upper hand clumsily, but Cheng Xiaoshi twists a leg to throw him off balance and bests him easily, a noise of triumph catching in his throat.

For a moment they do nothing but stare, breaths heavy. Cheng Xiaoshi runs a hand through his hair where it came undone, and there is an intensity in Lu Guang’s eyes that he doesn’t recognize from any of their previous roughhousing.

Lu Guang watches, as if waiting. Cheng Xiaoshi can hear the sound of his own throat as he swallows.

And Cheng Xiaoshi leans forward, unsure, exactly, on what he’s going to do. It’s like a leap from a waterfall; unavoidable by the end, a rush of adrenaline.

Their lips land clumsily on each other. It should, by all means, be horrible: he’s vaguely sweaty, his hair stuck to his cheek, the sun beaming overhead. But it’s Lu Guang, and they’re kissing, and it’s wonderful.

Cheng Xiaoshi pulls back, his eyes fluttering open, and he has a moment, only a moment, to see Lu Guang’s face framed in the afternoon light, lips slightly parted. Lu Guang’s eyes are blown wide by surprise and something else.

The horror seeps in much too slow. Cheng Xiaoshi flinches back, scrambles backwards. It’s then Lu Guang sits back up, and his face has closed over terrifyingly, halting the apologies in his throat.

Cheng Xiaoshi crawls back, back, and then he’s standing, and he runs.

Dear god, He’s thinking wildly, the back garden a rush of green in his sprint, just don’t let him hate me.

Even worse: he cannot go back from this, cannot unthink it. He will carry this for a long time, he knows. A secret burden, entirely his own.

The storm outside becomes a wall of white as Cheng Xiaoshi falls in and out of consciousness. He’d propped himself on the wall of a nearby cave, heaving Lu Guang along and resting his head over his lap, and now he’s between dreaming and snapping back with the gnawing fear that he won’t be there anymore.

But each time Lu Guang remained, so his own discomfort was distant. When not plagued with nightmares, Lu Guang had always been a motionless sleeper. He would usually find it funny, but he loathes it now.

Cheng Xiaoshi is somewhere far away when he stirs, and it pulls him back immediately.

“Don’t move,” he says against the relief of his moving at all. “You could be hurt.”

Lu Guang, apparently keen on disobeying, pulls up an arm to reach for him. It brushes against a sickening pain in his side, and Cheng Xiaoshi stills his breath at it. It doesn’t escape Lu Guang’s notice. He sits up quick.

“You’re hurt,” he says, his face something terrible. Cheng Xiaoshi closes his eyes to it.

“I’m fine,” he says, but even saying it feels wrong. The world is growing stuttered around the edges.

“I need to look at you,” When Cheng Xiaoshi doesn’t pull his hand away, a noise pulls from Lu Guang’s throat like that of a frightened, caged animal. “Please.”

So Cheng Xiaoshi lets his hand drop to his side, supposing that if he doesn’t even have the strength to disobey him, that’s when he truly knows it’s bad.

And judging by the look on Lu Guang’s face when he clicks off his upper armor, it really is.

He doesn’t ask what they both know is true. So instead he says, “Better me than you, hey?”

“No,” it’s angry, and fiercely sure. “No.”

A silence settles over them. The snow pushes on outside. Something warm and wet clings to the cloth at his hip.

“We fell far from the others, and without warning. They can’t know we’re down here.”

“And we’re stuck in a storm,” Cheng Xiaoshi adds. None of them speak of his injury. “One of us must be very unlucky. I’m gonna go ahead and guess you,” he leaves an opening for disagreement.

Lu Guang doesn’t answer, just stares out the cavern entrance, a hopeless droop to his shoulders.

A gasp. “The valley we passed,” his eyes lit up, a wretched hope in them. “Once the storm clears, we will go there for shelter. A roof will be over our head, and there might be supplies left behind.”

Cheng Xiaoshi just hums his assent, suddenly terribly weak, unsure if he can manage the trek there at all.

“Cheng Xiaoshi.”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t,” He starts, stops. Seems to bite back the words on his tongue. Says, again, “I don’t want you doing that for me again.”

And Cheng Xiaoshi just laughs out something breathy and spiteful. What a ridiculous notion, coming from his prince. His employer.

“You don’t want me saving you?”

Lu Guang must know how ridiculous he sounds. Still, he nods, resolute and firm.

The snow is beginning to die down outside, his own blood drying in his hands. Even still, it is the injury speaking when Cheng Xiaoshi pipes up, spilling something of a fraction of his most well-kept secret.

“I would have saved you, regardless.”

Regardless of status, of employment, of jurisdiction.

It does not ache to say, as he once thought it would.

“Lu Guang.”

“...Yes?”

“You can eat me, if you get really hungry.”

His face contorts immediately. “Gross.”

“I promise I’ll allow it.”

“No, thank you.”

“Maybe I taste really good. You never know.”

“No, Cheng Xiaoshi.”

Once the storm cleared, it still left the problem of the snow.

Thankfully they’d gone most of the way when running from bandits, but a walk through snow will slow them down quite a bit. He feels silly to have played with it just a day or two ago.

“We must go quickly.”

Lu Guang stands over him, hands twitching at his sides, as if ready to catch him, should he fall.

Cheng Xiaoshi’s first attempts at motion felt all kinds of wrong. Something gave at his side, long forgotten limbs creaking, and he had to swallow back past the torrent of pain. He gathers a breath, steeling himself, and slides up with the wall at his back. He’s standing, at the very least.

Lu Guang’s face roves over him all over, searching. He’s gnawing at his bottom lip.

“Will you manage the walk?”

He swallows. “Yes.”

Lu Guang looks on for a moment longer. Then he swivels forward, and beckons him close.

Cheng Xiaoshi is beckoned, looking down confusedly. Lu Guang huffs, and proceeds to swing an arm around his middle.

Cheng Xiaoshi jumps like a startled kitten, furs raised. “Lu Guang! I’m fine!”

“Shut up and lean on me.”

“I’m really fine though!”

“What part of you is fine?” Lu Guang says, too loud. He comes to after a moment, taking a breath. When he next speaks, it’s softer. “You took the fall for me. Let me do this much for you.”

Cheng Xiaoshi shakes his head firmly. He will not lose face in front of Lu Guang. What kind of a knight is he, if he can’t prove himself capable?

“I’m your knight,” He says. “And you are my prince.”

It said enough. Cheng Xiaoshi can still see the stubborn draw of his brows, but he relents. He’s careful to stay upright as Lu Guang drops his arm back to his side.

And then they’re leaving the safety of their cave.

Thankfully, the wind remains faint as they trudge their way through snow, something protesting with every step. He wills himself to think of anything else, so he looks on at Lu Guang.

“Where did Lu Guang go? All I see is snow.”

Lu Guang throws him a scrutinizing look over his shoulder, but something like calm settles over him too, a bit of his worry smoothing at Cheng Xiaoshi’s little jest.

At one point they stop atop a small incline as Lu Guang peers ahead, and something drips by Cheng Xiaoshi’s feet. Oh. He’s still bleeding. He buries it in snow with a foot, and they continue on.

“Are you alright?” Lu Guang asks later, a steady presence at his side. This alone makes the trek easier.

“Yeah.”

“No complaints? How unusual for you.”

Cheng Xiaoshi can hear the smile in his voice, but try as he might, he can muster no more than a grunt in answer.

Finally, the valley comes into view as morning light trickles up through the clearing, and they each breathe sighs of relief. It’s nothing more than a small hamlet, but more than enough for shelter.

Lu Guang ushers him inside the less dilapidated building, the door opening with a loud and rusty creak. It’s a simple commoner’s house, with a bed made of straw, a low wooden table and a stone fireplace by one end, with some firewood still inside.

“We can make a fire,” Lu Guang says, crouching to grab hold of two loose stones. Stiffly, he clashes the two together, frowning when he doesn’t get it perfectly by the third attempt.

Cheng Xiaoshi laughs at him. “Let me do it,” he says, and when he tries to crouch beside him, he finds that he can’t.

He tumbles to one side, to an instant call of his name. He groans, trying to push himself upright with an arm, but he’s shaking too much for it. Ah. If he were to die, he’d at least hoped Lu Guang wouldn’t be there to see it.

Lu Guang says something above him, pushing him to lay on his back properly. He pulls at his armor first, then carefully peels back the hem of the shirt underneath. The cold seeps in, but he feels warm all over, so he doesn’t even shudder.

“You’re still bleeding,” his hands reach out, pause, quiver. “Fuck, fuck.”

That’s not very princely of him. He opens his mouth to say as much, but all that comes out is a messy garble of sound.

Cheng Xiaoshi lifts his head. He could just make out the jagged edge of a stone, lodged into his skin at the hip. Walking must have worsened the wound. It looked— bad.

Lu Guang is silent. Then he reaches over onto Cheng Xiaoshi’s discarded armor, and there’s a slide of metal against leather. His dagger survived the fall, apparently.

“I don’t want to do this,” he hears in a whisper. Lu Guang sounds younger than he’s heard him be in years.

“S’okay,” He manages. “If you twist my neck quickly, it’s totally painless.”

“Shut up,” Lu Guang bristles, truly furious. “Bite down on this.”

Cheng Xiaoshi bites down on the offered cloth, chews on it to still the apologetic ache in his chest.

Lu Guang tries at the stones again, faster and more urgent and trembling, and gets it on his fifth attempt, the overachiever he is. Then he dips the dagger into the flame, tilting it to heat every angle.

He looks down at him while setting his teeth together, something horribly vulnerable in him, and even still, he can’t find it in himself to regret it. Better him than Lu Guang, after all.

“Are you ready?”

He nods.

“Okay. Okay, okay. I’m going to do it.”

For a while he doesn’t, taking a second to gather himself. Then Cheng Xiaoshi feels the heat from the dagger’s edge, and it sinks into him completely.

He can’t bite back the noise this time, and it comes out of him in a low howl. He thinks he hears Lu Guang whimper, but he doesn’t still his hand.

The world becomes a blur of senseless pain for an infinitesimal stretch of time. He feels every carved jab of the dagger, and focuses everything he has into staying still and quiet, choking on his heaved breaths.

“You’re okay,” Lu Guang is whispering, again and again, even as his voice strains.

And then: a thunk, of what must be the now dislodged stone. Blood flows freely from his wound in its absence.

“No no no no no,” he says feverishly, ripping off another layer of his clothes to rip it apart and press it, dizzyingly, to the wound.

Time grows hazy from there, but Lu Guang spends what must have been hours there on his knees, adding pressure to it, his other hand stained with blood quivering over Cheng Xiaoshi’s chest to feel for his heart.

At one point he must have been too still, because there’s a loud, frightening call of his name, and he startles into semi awareness. The shaking hand settles a bit. He slips back into a semblance of sleep.

When he wakes, Lu Guang is droopy but awake above him.

“Lu G’ng,” he slurs, not daring to move.

A noise sounds, relief and despair at once. “Cheng Xiaoshi,” he marvels. The hand over his heart quivers.

“M’okay.”

Every one of Lu Guang’s taut muscles gives way to relief, his whole body sagging with it. He bows his head close to Cheng Xiaoshi’s heart, much like he’d done himself back in the snowstorm, what feels like a lifetime ago.

He’s careful not to touch as he says, “Does it still hurt?”

“A little,” Cheng Xiaoshi admits.

“But you’re alive.”

“I sure hope so.”

There’s a low chant of alive alive alive as he slowly pulls back his makeshift bandages, soaked through with blood. Lu Guang is missing a few more layers, so he guesses he’d pulled apart more while he slept.

“You’re cold.”

“What?” Lu Guang says, as more of a belated realization. “No, the fire is warm.”

“Hm,” he says, then, “my head hurts.”

Lu Guang presses a hand to his forehead. “You have a fever.”

“Oh. I mostly meant from the floor. But that too, I guess.”

Lu Guang is careful as he pulls him onto the straw mattress, looks him up and over, and hurries to stoke the fire in the hearth. Cheng Xiaoshi’s eyes droop in his absence, but Lu Guang rushes back before he can commit to sleep.

“Sleep, Lu Guang. I’ll be okay.”

“Yes,” he replies as he’s settling in bed beside him, furthest from his wound. But he’s propped up on one elbow, just watching him. Cheng Xiaoshi finds that he doesn’t mind the stare. He sleeps.

Half a day must pass before he wakes again. The weather from his window doesn’t help in telling the time.

Lu Guang is bent in an awkward position, face pressed to the crook of Cheng Xiaoshi’s neck, hand holding his in a tight grip, even in sleep. He jerks into awareness at just a twitch, sitting up, hand fumbling for Cheng Xiaoshi’s heart.

They just stare for a moment, Lu Guang’s heavy breaths the only sound.

“Does it hurt?”

He thinks about it. “Not really.”

“Don’t lie again, Cheng Xiaoshi.”

“I swear to you,” he says, not to deny him, just trying to alleviate his worries. “I’m much better.”

Lu Guang breathes a little easier. Even still, there’s a tremor to his hand, something despairing in his eyes, just at the edges. Something almost like grief.

Cheng Xiaoshi laughs, more breath than sound, if only to ease Lu Guang’s tension, his shoulders more taut than a bowstring.

“Thank you for being brave for me.”

Lu Guang shakes his head again and again, but doesn’t say a word.

“We have quite the heroic tale on our hands, eh? Do you think they’ll grace me with a few words in their history books?”

Lu Guang’s hand is still pressed over Cheng Xiaoshi’s chest, right over his heart, but it’s as if the tension is easing with his every word. Maybe this is all Lu Guang needs, this proof Cheng Xiaoshi is still alive.

“When we get back home, I’m downing two whole cups of ale. Alcohol is in medicine for a reason, right? I’m just thinking outside the box.”

A disapproving hum sounds in response. It startles him into reality.

“Ah, we’re not going home after this. How could I forget? After you’re crowned king, you could even ban ale, if you wanted to. Please don’t, though. I know you like threatening me with it, but it’s just a joke, right?”

They stare again. Cheng Xiaoshi prides himself in reading Lu Guang’s expressions well, but never has he seen this daunting expression on him. It strikes him into silence.

Then Lu Guang cups his cheeks, says, “You fool,” and kisses him, square on the mouth.

It’s less a kiss and more a confirmation, as if to try and feverishly breathe life into him. It’s soft but demanding, all his worry and anguish and fear pressed into it, and Cheng Xiaoshi doesn’t get the chance to reciprocate before it’s gone just as quick.

He blinks against it. But Lu Guang is gone, settling into a faroff corner of the mattress, his back to him.

And suddenly he’s fourteen all over again, and it’s warm and it’s spring and for a moment he’s allowed to playfight and tease and be a boy in love with another boy.

“Come back,” Cheng Xiaoshi says once the daze dispels. “Lu Guang—” he tries to sit up to reach for him, hissing at the sudden, sharp ache.

Lu Guang crawls back immediately, and he almost feels bad for playing up the pain. His hands are hovering, unsure.

“Lu Guang,” he reaches out to his cheek, marvels when Lu Guang flinches but ultimately sinks into his open palm. “Lu Guang, did you… want to kiss me?”

Lu Guang’s eyes snap open, and this new expression is so strange on him because he scarcely ever sees Lu Guang afraid. But his fear is unmistakable, like Cheng Xiaoshi just dragged the worst of his secrets, kicking and screaming, into the light.

“Cheng Xiaoshi,” He says in lieu of an answer, and the silence settles. But Cheng Xiaoshi pulls him in by the neck, and then they’re kissing, and they speak no more of it.

It is nothing like he imagined, back when he’d push past the shame of the thought. It is nothing like from when they were fourteen either, when he thinks of the memory past the fear and the ache.

This Lu Guang is real, soft and pliable over him, leaning into his every touch, seeking his warmth. His kisses are demanding and soft both, as if unsure how to go about it first, eager and reverent both.

And he’s greedy: when they pull back for air, he’s already pressing more down his jaw, tilting his head this way and that, smoothing back his hair again and again. Cheng Xiaoshi lets himself be pulled into his rhythm, tilting his neck for easier access, shudders at his appreciative hum, as if he’s truly worthy of this worship.

Lu Guang pecks him once, twice, and then he’s sagging into a lazier kiss, exhausted but unwilling to stop. Cheng Xiaoshi laughs into it, and it snaps Lu Guang out of some sort of stupor.

“Sleep, Guangguang,” he says, but doesn’t move.

Lu Guang seems just as reluctant, so Cheng Xiaoshi just pulls him in over the better half of his side, and he sinks into the embrace easily. There’s a sigh of lazy contentment by his ear, and he shivers against it.

But Cheng Xiaoshi has slept enough, and so he spends the better part of an hour willing his heart to slow. Lu Guang sleeps easily over him, his only tether.

The snow starts to subside by morning.

Not enough as he would have liked, but enough that it’s easier to let Lu Guang go off in search of food without squirming at the wrongness of it. The two settle for wild winter berries for now, but Cheng Xiaoshi is sure he’ll have to start hunting soon. Maybe he’ll even take Lu Guang. For easy entertainment.

At one point he returns from one of his escapades with firewood and a bottle of some unidentifiable liquid, likely left behind from one of the neighboring houses. He opens the door, releasing a breath once he spots Cheng Xiaoshi sitting up in bed.

“What’s that?”

Lu Guang shrugs, settling one down and tossing the other into the open fire. Cheng Xiaoshi picks up the bottle and uncorks it, gives an experimental sniff, and throws his head back in a swig.

The bottle is yanked from him. “Cheng Xiaoshi!”

“What? Someone had to do it,” Cheng Xiaoshi says, smacking his lips as if he were parsing the taste of an aged wine. “Wow. It’s bad.”

“Of course it’s bad, idiot,” Lu Guang raises a hand to smack him, thinks better of it, lets it drop with an unsatisfied grunt.

They drink what ends up being a flat mead and leftover berries that stain Cheng Xiaoshi’s fingers purple, and Lu Guang watches him lick off the excess for a bit before leaning in to kiss him, right there on the floor, as if stricken mad by something or another. He tastes like cheap alcohol and something sweet, something intrinsically Lu Guang.

Lu Guang makes a habit of it. When he walks in from outside, he’ll get down on his knees just to kiss him.

When Cheng Xiaoshi is warming his hands by the fire, he shuffles in close, gives it about ten seconds, and then they’re kissing.

When Cheng Xiaoshi steps outside to pack snow into the bucket to melt, mostly just to keep himself busy, Lu Guang rushes out in a fit to usher him inside, and when they kiss, it’s with a harsh pull and an angry huff.

“I had no idea you liked kissing this much,” Cheng Xiaoshi says once they part, smiling something giddy.

Lu Guang just hums, not entirely there. His eyes open with a delayed flutter.

The idea of “home” starts to stick. Not in the traditional sense, where it’s warm and comfortable and safe, but something uniquely theirs. Their bucket, their bed, their fireplace, their room. The relief of knowing that Lu Guang will come back, and Cheng Xiaoshi will, in turn, be there, waiting.

It should feel wrong, having Lu Guang who’s built for royalty in a place like this, but it isn’t. They throw together a breakfast in the morning, chat by the fire until dusk, and rest against each other at nightfall. As if creating a space with just the two of them comes easily.

And Cheng Xiaoshi grows greedy with it. It’s a new kind of sickness, to be void of something only to then have it in excess. He could go mad from the feeling.

Night falls. Lu Guang lays him down gently on the bed, brushing away the crease on his forehead when he winces in pain, something giving in his side. He caresses a thumb over Cheng Xiaoshi’s brow, trails it down his ear, rubs thoughtfully at the lobe. The unexpected intimacy of it makes him shudder, drawing in a half breath.

And Lu Guang is so unimaginably pretty. He’s always known it, but it’s different now in the nighttime chill, something silver dangling from his ear like the tail of a comet. He’s looking at Cheng Xiaoshi as if he means something to him, and it’s terrifying.

Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't know what will become of him if he takes this initiative, if he could ever come back from it, ever undo it. So instead he just stares up at him, half expectant, half dazed, willing his hands to stay close to his sides. He can live and breathe from that first kiss, when it comes to it.

Please please please please please, he begs, unsure what for.

Lu Guang stares in turn. A moment passes where he holds his breath, but Lu Guang must see something in him, because his face falls terribly.

Like that, the moment passes, and Lu Guang settles down on their straw bed. Cheng Xiaoshi has to swallow down his hurt like bile.

“Goodnight, Lu Guang,” He says to their ceiling. Lu Guang hums, noncommittal.

Something was always meant to break.

It takes three more days for them to be found, sometime around dawn.

Cheng Xiaoshi scrambles upwards without a second thought, barreling through the door to signal to them, barefoot and all. The speck of his black hair against the stark white must have been conspicuous enough, since the approaching voices and footsteps and cantering horses begin to approach immediately.

He’d always thought the knights capable, never once doubted they’d deal with the bandits and rescue them with due urgency. Part of him cheers. He wills it to.

Even still.

One more day, he mourns, the words pounding at the cages of his heart. Just one.

Shame, weeks of it, maybe months, rolls through his stomach at once, so thick he needs a moment to dig his feet into the snow, feel the bite of cold against his cheek. Perhaps this is his penance for indulgement.

He looks back to what became their home, searching, and spots Lu Guang by the window easily. He’s staring at the incoming soldiers, his gaze unfeeling. Ah. Already, the man who’d been playing at domesticity with him is gone.

Before long, the search team arrives at what was once their doorstep, now a simple temporary shelter. Lu Guang does not step outside to greet them, and for a long while Cheng Xiaoshi doesn’t go back inside, either.

A few soldiers he recognizes as his subordinates approach him, only a few years his junior, and just like that the illusion is broken at once. Settling back into his role comes easily, as if those days in their little hut had never happened at all.

“Any casualties?” He asks them, once they’re done with their report.

“Only the carriage driver,” One says, to his grief. “Though five soldiers were heavily injured, and had to be sent back to the kingdom for treatment.”

He nods. “And the funeral?”

“Already arranged, and the family compensated.”

“Good work,” he says, sees a few of them sneak glances at each other, giddy with praise. He ruffles the hair of the nearest one, who bows his head in shock.

He sends them away to tend to the prince, watching them go. The wind picks up.

He only comes to with an urgent call of his name, Lu Guang pressing through startled soldiers to get to him.

“Cheng Xiaoshi,” He starts, lips quivering as if still deciding on what to say first, before settling with, “Your feet.”

Blearily, he looks down. He’s still barefoot. He hadn’t noticed.

“Ah,” He chuckles, “I guess I was too excited to notice!”

He looks up, and they lock eyes. Cheng Xiaoshi keeps the smile plastered on as Lu Guang’s gaze roves over him, searching for something.

He doesn’t know what he finds, but Lu Guang closes his eyes to it, brows furrowed. He takes in a deep, shaky inhale. Without looking, he presses boots into Cheng Xiaoshi’s chest. They’re warm, like they’d been resting near a fire.

A soldier creeps up from behind. “Your Highness,” He starts with a bow, “And what of our journey? Is it best we head back to our kingdom capital?”

Lu Guang turns back to Cheng Xiaoshi, and for a blindingly hopeful moment, Cheng Xiaoshi is convinced he’s going to say yes.

Then, “Are your injuries well enough to continue?”

Ah. Meaning: there is no space for him to say no. Meaning: they should continue. Meaning: he wants them to continue.

So Cheng Xiaoshi puts on his best smile and leaves the feeling inside his chest to burn.

“I’m fine, Your Highness.”

For a moment he’d almost forgotten his place.

Lu Guang stares for another second, closes his eyes, and breathes.

They continue.

The carriage ride is surprisingly worse than the smooth trotting of a horse. It rattled and groaned on the unsteady road, and is a lot more claustrophobic-inducing than the open fields of a horse ride.

They ride in relative silence until he pipes up, without thought, “I guess all it took was falling down a cliff for me to be let inside,” he knocks on the carriage walls for emphasis.

This seems to pull Lu Guang back from somewhere far away. He turns to look at him slowly.

“You were always welcome.”

Cheng Xiaoshi says nothing to that. He’s afraid that if he does, it will sound too bitter, and that’s the last thing Lu Guang deserves.

The next five days are the same. They ride for hours, stopping only long enough to let the horses rest, and then they sleep. For five days, Lu Guang only speaks to him to demand he be seen by physicians, standing idly to the side all the while, then he only sees him again for those long hours inside his awful carriage.

Yet, strangely, Cheng Xiaoshi prefers this to their inevitable arrival. At least this way, their brief days of near domesticity will not seem so far gone. He can hold onto them for a little while longer.

Even still, they climbed one last hill, and at the summit found themselves overlooking the vast sprawl of the great city. A crowd awaited them at the crossroads below, people that stopped working to line the road and stare, tucking their children close. It felt less reverent than the villagers they’d passed, but more curious.

The people make way for their carriage, and soon they’re ushered inside the castle, footmen waiting by the door. They bow to Lu Guang as he climbs down, but aren’t quite sure what to do with Cheng Xiaoshi, who’s no doubt sleep-ridden and the farthest thing from a prince.

“Show him to his quarters,” Lu Guang says at their hesitation, “And send a physician along.”

“Special treatment much?” Cheng Xiaoshi raises a brow, offering a smile.

Lu Guang looks at him, then quickly away. “You’re hurt.”

He walks off, attendants and neighboring advisors following suit, excited to take him to their king.

It’s only later, as his bandages are being changed, that he realizes Lu Guang must have met the princess already. He jerks up in bed, grasping at nothing, as if any of it will make a difference. The physician startles, but pushes him back down.

“But Lu Guang,” He says, half manic, as if that explains anything.

The physician looks down at him with contempt, and it’s then he realizes he’d blatantly used the prince’s first name to a stranger who couldn’t possibly understand.

“I’d have half a mind to report your disrespect to His Highness, if you hadn’t been the one that saved him,” she says. When she pulls his bandages tighter, he has to stifle a pained groan.

And I have half a mind to whine about you to Qiao Ling, he thinks, but Qiao Ling was part of some other rescue party and isn’t set to arrive for another few days, and he isn’t sure if Lu Guang would have the time for him anymore.

Even worse: he doesn’t know how to explain to her what he means to Lu Guang, but since it will soon not matter, he says nothing at all.

He runs into the worst person imaginable while exploring the castle halls.

The princess smiles at him with recognition, brown hair tied back into a long elaborate braid, eyes a clear emerald same as her jewelry.

“You must be Sir Cheng Xiaoshi!” She smiles pleasantly, but her tone betrays her excitement. “I’d heard of your wonderful feats of heroism in saving the prince. I’m grateful he has someone so trustworthy at his side.”

Ah, Cheng Xiaoshi mourns. She’s lovely. He’s almost sorry he’d been reducing her simply to Lu Guang's fiancée, as if making her less of a person will make reality easier to bear.

“Thank you, milady,” He says with a bow, hand to heart, as a true knight should. “I wish you two a happy future.”

“Oh goodness,” She blushes up to her ears, “It’s still much too early for that! Negotiations have only just started,” She says, but they both know it’s as good as done.

She's clearly eager herself, no doubt after having met Lu Guang. He can’t blame her. Who wouldn’t want to be loved by him?

He rises. “Regardless, the more you get to know His Highness, the more interesting he becomes. Like a cuttlefish.”

She doesn't seem put off by the absurdity and instead says, “Yes, I know what you mean!”

“We shall wait and see, then,” He laughs, smiling pleasantly. “Thank you for your kind words. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course,” She curtsies, and he walks past her.

He busies himself by replaying their interaction over and over and over, wondering if it’s possible to mourn someone who was never his to begin with.

Cheng Xiaoshi hovers by Lu Guang’s door.

Rather, he’s been hovering for several minutes. Twice he’d changed his mind, left, and circled right back, hand raised uselessly to knock. The two guards at the end of each hall keep sneaking concerned glances, but don’t ask any questions.

At one point he gathers the courage, he swears he does, but the door bursts open on its own, an angry Lu Guang at the foot of it.

“How much longer are you going to pace in front of my door?”

Cheng Xiaoshi lowers his hand, still pressed into a fist. “For as long as you’ll let me, apparently.”

Lu Guang clicks his tongue, and pulls him inside without question.

A quick glance around reveals wooden floors and red curtains patterned in gold, with a too-big bed built into one wall and a fancy nightstand on the other, stacked with overflowing letters. About the wedding, no doubt.

Cheng Xiaoshi looks over at him. “Got room for one more?”

“Surely not.”

“Ah, Lu Guang, the most distinguished of royals, forcing a commoner into his royal chambers!” He presses the back of a hand to his forehead, “Oh, the outrage!”

There’s a breath of laughter. “Should I bribe you into silence?”

“Hm…” Cheng Xiaoshi purses his lips. “What are we thinking?”

“I’m thinking I behead you for blasphemy.”

“Tyranny!”

“You started it.”

Cheng Xiaoshi laughs, belly-up, the movement nearly tearing something at his side. He jerks at it, Lu Guang’s hands reaching out to hover over him immediately, scared to touch.

“Careful,” he says, more breath than sound.

And something in Cheng Xiaoshi aches, familiar and long tended-to, fond fond fond.

“Worry not, Your Highness,” He pulls up the hem of his ruffled shirt all the way up to his bandages, inwardly cheering that they’re still colored white. “I’m all better now!”

Lu Guang looks away quick, rethinks it, looks back.

“Does it still hurt?”

Sometimes. “Not really.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not!”

He looks on, suspicious. “Then… what’s the matter?”

Cheng Xiaoshi couldn’t answer him even if he tried.

Because this is the truth of it: It will not be enough, he’d thought hysterically as he stumbled out of bed, something or another scraped raw in him. Love will not be enough. Lu Guang will love him and Cheng Xiaoshi will love him more and there will be nowhere to go from there, nothing to come from it. It is salted earth. Nothing can bloom.

At least, in these last few moments where Lu Guang is still wholly his own, he can treasure the thought that he was once his, too. His to hold. His to love.

Lord knows Cheng Xiaoshi will be Lu Guang’s, regardless.

So he extends a hand and says, nonsensically, “Will you dance with me?” A chuckle, “You know, as practice. You can even pretend I’m your wife.”

And Lu Guang humors him, for what must be the last time. It’s a kindness. It’s torture.

“Yes,” He says, as if there were no other possible answer.

So they dance.

At first they’re unsure of what to do with their hands, both of them fumbling awkwardly and lifting them this way and that. Then he laughs at the absurdity of it, so Lu Guang takes the plunge and rests a hand on his side, the other intertwining with his own. Cheng Xiaoshi, in turn, rests his hand on Lu Guang’s shoulder, affronted.

“Why am I the maiden?”

Lu Guang quirks a brow. “Did you not ask me to pretend you’re my wife?”

Cheng Xiaoshi purses his lips, but says no more.

Their steps soon become a somewhat synchronized mess as each take turns leading the other, fumbling all the way. There’s no music playing, and neither is there logic to it, but Lu Guang always had a tendency to indulge him, even now, engaged man he is.

And for a moment he’s back there in that cabin, snow falling outside the window, a breeze sneaking in from every gap in the wall. And yet he’s warm warm warm, pressed close against Lu Guang, laughing as though Lu Guang were never a prince at all, nor him a knight.

It feels almost forbidden, more than anything they’ve ever done— Having his first dance with the crown prince in his own bedroom, his fiancée fast asleep somewhere nearby, while the two are here, pressed in so close their hearts beat in sync.

“Quite good at this, aren’t you?” Cheng Xiaoshi teases, sometime around their fifth spin. “Anything else you’re good at?”

Lu Guang considers this. “I can recite the royal pledge of allegiance backwards.”

“What? Can you really?”

He does just that, then abruptly bends Cheng Xiaoshi backwards into a low dip, supporting him by his back. It is unreasonably attractive. Cheng Xiaoshi just kind of stares, astonished, then erupts into senseless laughter, tipping his head back with it.

Lu Guang holds him there all the while, and when Cheng Xiaoshi stops to look, Lu Guang is smiling, every hard line softened, his eyes ever so slightly curved. Cheng Xiaoshi’s hands twitch, a sudden urge to capture the moment, something to take out at night and turn over and over in his hands, watching the moonlight refract through it. A small, secret thing, entirely his own.

“So noble, my Lu Guang is,” he says with too much feeling. Follows it with another laugh, to make it sound like a joke. “Ever thought of becoming a prince?”

He hums in thought. “Not really.”

“Oh? What would you be, then?”

Lu Guang opens his mouth to speak, rethinks it, parses the words in his mouth.

“A gardener.”

“A gardener? Ah, how sweet and domestic of you!” He laughs, “And what will you grow?”

“Anything you like.”

“What, will you be a housewife, too?”

“Yes.”

Cheng Xiaoshi is pulled to his feet as his giggles die down, “Forgive me, then, miss Lu Guang.”

“And you?”

“Hm?” He hums, still smiling.

“What would you be?”

Cheng Xiaoshi never had the kind of privilege to consider any other way of life, so the question is unexpected.

“Hmmm,” He breathes air in through his teeth in thought, “Something related to art, maybe.”

“Oh?”

“I’m quite skilled,” Cheng Xiaoshi nods, smug. “But given the choice, I’d still be your knight, you know?”

Lu Guang bows his head, something satisfied in the line of his brows.

And so the moment doesn’t so much break as it does slow to a fitting stop, both of them simply victims to its pull.

For a moment, neither of them move. Then a tremulous laugh shakes out of Cheng Xiaoshi, a little wild-edged. He starts to pull their hands apart, and Lu Guang leans as though to follow for just a second before letting his hands drop to his sides.

Cheng Xiaoshi bows to his dance partner, hand to his heart, as one would in a real ballroom, and Lu Guang huffs but does the same. Then they rise, left to stare at each other. Cheng Xiaoshi is not willing to let him go, but he must. He must. He’d come here knowing this.

And yet.

“Thank you, Lu Guang,” he says but it comes out heavy, swallowing the words still on his tongue. It will have to be enough.

“Ah,” Lu Guang says, slow, then, “Thank you.” As if in equal understanding.

Cheng Xiaoshi bows again, if only to hide the face he must be making. Then he leaves. He’d wanted closure; this doesn’t feel like closure at all.

It will not be enough, after all.

Morning comes, and he makes friends with a group of gossiping maids.

“Is His Highness as handsome as they say?”

“He’s twice as handsome,” he says. They all gape, exchanging wide eyed glances.

“And what did he say as you saved his life?”

“Ah, I suppose he was too worried to say much about that.”

“About you?” Another pipes up, eager.

He thinks through that time of dazed pain for a minute. “Yes, I suppose.”

Their excitement doubles.

“And what did you two do, before you were rescued?”

Okay. It’s beginning to go in a weird direction.

“His Highness bravely opened my wound with the edge of a burning dagger, saving my life just as well,” he narrates as if he’s telling a fairytale.

But they don’t seem to care much for his tellings of Lu Guang’s heroics like he’d imagined.

“Did he cry as he did it?”

He just looks down at them for a moment. “...No?”

“But did you two have to huddle for warmth?”

“Or share a bed?”

Worse than their strange enthusiasm is the fact they were right on the nose.

In short, he didn’t glean much more information about the wedding from there on, so he decides on a different approach.

Cheng Xiaoshi is standing guard near the door when it opens, the council pouring out in a torrent of lords and soldiers.

He had thought Lu Guang would come behind them, but he doesn’t: he’s in the center of the crowd with all the courtiers gathered around him, like sparrows around a cardinal. The princess hangs off one arm, nodding along to what’s being said. This is what Cheng Xiaoshi was here for, exposure therapy and all that, so he makes himself look on, but learns nothing new.

Sometime around the third day of this, Lu Guang takes notice of him through the entourage.

The crowd makes way as he walks up, making it look all kinds of wrong, like an actor breaking character to suddenly pull you onstage.

“You’re not supposed to be working yet.”

“Well, you are,” he says, remembers their company, then adds, “Apologies, Your Highness.”

His brows pinch, and he shakes his head. “Go rest.”

So he’s confined to bedrest.

He wonders if he’ll get to be at their wedding. Would he even want to? He supposes it would be best, if he wants to get accustomed quickly.

He imagines it, even: daunting in all its gaudiness, lords and friendly neighboring kingdoms gathering from all over just to see him off. And him, just a speck in the crowd. They will still be friends, he reasons. Lu Guang will just become twice as important and three times as unreachable.

He sighs, supposing there’s nothing else to do but wait.

A knock comes.

Cheng Xiaoshi isn’t quite sure what to expect, but not this: Lu Guang, dressed too fancily for the hour, a stack of papers at his side.

He looks on. “Is that… Your wedding suit?”

“Just let me inside,” he says gruffly.

So he does, closing the door behind him, watching on. Lu Guang sets the papers on a nearby desk Cheng Xiaoshi hadn’t even been using, the room much too large for someone used to squeezing between rows of soldiers.

For a minute he doesn’t say anything.

Then, “Do you know what these are?”

Cheng Xiaoshi walks up to look at the jumbled mess of them.

“Something related to your wedding?”

“Yes,” he offers, but says nothing more. The silence feels expectant, but he doesn’t know what else to say to that.

“I don’t suppose you’re here to ask me to be your flower girl, are you?”

“Cheng Xiaoshi,” he closes his eyes, furrowing his brows as if pained. “Please, be serious.”

And Cheng Xiaoshi is tired, suddenly.

“What do you want me to say, Lu Guang?”

“Anything,” he pleads. “Anything at all.”

Somewhere, somewhere deep, he knows what it is he’s asking from him.

“Who am I to say anything?”

“Everything,” he’d gone half mad as he says it, turning to Cheng Xiaoshi with wild eyes. “You’re everything.”

Because the truth is this: he knew. How could he not? There was no mistaking their time in that home to be anything but hopeless, mutual want.

Even worse is that he has Lu Guang etched into every corner of his being, can close his eyes and picture his likeness more easily than he could his own. He knew it might hurt him, but he would never ask Lu Guang to risk all he has for him. He could never even bear the thought of it.

At least, he’d thought manically, that when he loses Lu Guang, the Lu Guang he’d been allowed to kiss and hold and love, he would have those few days of bliss to fall back to. Back when they were the only two people in the world, and he could imagine what it would be like if Lu Guang were to ever choose him.

And yet: here he is, something crazed in his eyes, horribly expectant.

One word. Lu Guang is asking for just one word from him, and he will leave it all behind. It’s a terrifying notion.

“Lu Guang,” Cheng Xiaoshi says, breathless, and no, this is not right, this is not how it’s supposed to go. “Lu Guang, if you turn back now, they’ll never know. You’ve been righteous all your life, there’s no reason to—”

“No,” Lu Guang shakes his head again and again, and for all that he’d dressed in pretty blues and regal golds, he looks so utterly small like this, begging as if Cheng Xiaoshi were his only way to salvation.

Still, he tries. He owes it to him to try. “You’ll regret it—”

“Please. I can’t go back to that. Not after knowing what it’s like to— to have you want me,” Lu Guang marches closer to him to raise the back of Cheng Xiaoshi’s hands to his forehead, whispers to his shoes, “Don’t make me go back.”

It’s not a command, though with Lu Guang, it never is. Lu Guang’s commands range from having him clean up his own messes to reminding him to eat. This is a plea, one long buried.

Lu Guang was never meant to plead for anything, much less from him, and it shocks Cheng Xiaoshi into stillness. He’s never let himself be selfish, but here Lu Guang is, baring his bleeding, selfish heart himself, begging for a redemption only he can offer.

Even worse than that: Cheng Xiaoshi can’t stop himself from wanting it just as much.

“Your position—”

“Let them have it. I have plenty of siblings who’d kill for it.”

“Your family, then—”

A bitter laugh, “I’ve only ever been an asset to them, anyway.”

“Then,” Cheng Xiaoshi starts, suddenly helpless, not used to being the sensible one between them, “The kingdom?”

This gives Lu Guang pause. “The rest of the world could have burned in those days in that house, and I’d never even care to know.”

“Lu Guang—”

“In secret, then!” Lu Guang says quickly, manic with it, “At least, stay with me in secret. Or,” His eyes widened with a newer, more wretched thought, “You don’t want me that way at all?”

“Lu Guang,” Cheng Xiaoshi says firmly, turning his hands so they’re cupping his cheeks instead. “Lu Guang,” he says softer, helpless to this incorrigible man, so fond he’s fit to burst with it. It must show in his tone, because it makes Lu Guang look up, his face terrible.

“Cheng Xiaoshi,” He says, but sniffles. Cheng Xiaoshi loves him so fiercely he aches.

All at once comes the realization: Lu Guang was always willing to drop it all for him. Cheng Xiaoshi’s unwillingness to realize it hurt Lu Guang more than he is ready to say.

“Lu Guang, I adore you. Do you hear me? I adore you, and I have since forever,” He says, and Lu Guang lets out a full body shudder, like this was an impossible scenario, like he hadn’t just been begging so desperately for it.

“Yeah?”

Cheng Xiaoshi’s smile wobbles, joy and laughter and something else. “Yeah.”

Lu Guang’s eyes flicker over every inch of his face, as if committing it to memory, or simply measuring the truth to his words. He’s struck by the sudden urge to kiss him silly.

“Truly?”

“Yes, truly. The most truly. And I’m— I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

Lu Guang just shakes and shakes his head, longer than what’s needed, the words seemingly catching in his throat.

“And now?” Lu Guang says, all open eyed and hopeful, as if, for once, Cheng Xiaoshi is the one with all the answers.

“And now, the only thing getting in between us are the other three hundred thousand issues we have.”

There’s a twitch in his brow, as if those were an afterthought to this newfound reality of requited love.

“Three hundred thousand,” He mumbles, then adds, “For now, I suppose I have to reject the wedding.”

“Lu Guang!” Cheng Xiaoshi says, scandalized. “This would mean— You know what this would mean!”

They don’t speak of what they already know: he might lose his position as first in line to the throne.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Then, softer, “She is not you.”

“Hm,” Cheng Xiaoshi hums, like his heart isn’t soaring. “Though I’d make an excellent princess.”

Lu Guang hums, but doesn’t deny it, then grabs his collar and kisses him something fierce.

It isn’t like their kiss in that house, when Cheng Xiaoshi was groggy with pain and kissing him like he’d never again get the chance. It isn’t like the others shared in their shelter, either, slow and unhurried and terrifying. It’s something else entirely, new and real, drunk off joy.

Cheng Xiaoshi is struck with the fact he’s allowed to want this and pulls him in closer, swallowing Lu Guang’s noise of surprise. Lu Guang seems to press into wherever is closest, as soft and malleable as he’d imagined, tilting his head into Cheng Xiaoshi’s waiting palm. Being wanted and being loved seem inseparable now, sugar in water, paint in silk.

Lu Guang pulls back, and it elicits a low, throaty noise from Cheng Xiaoshi, who is startled at himself at once. Lu Guang smooths down part of his hair, something apologetic in the gesture.

“You’re smiling too much,” he explains, too soft to be reprimanding.

Is he? He hadn’t noticed.

“Sorry,” He says, not truly sorry. He tries to push it down, but his cheeks ache with it, and he laughs and laughs, struck silly with it. Lu Guang must catch the sickness, since he laughs, too, more breath than sound.

And yet the wild, bare instincts of him are somewhere saying I want I want I want, so he pulls Lu Guang back in, still smiling into it, dizzy and clumsy all the same. His hands grasp blindly from Lu Guang’s hands to his neck to his hair, eager to hold, eager to please.

Lu Guang is the first to pull back, soft and kiss stricken, sighing into his mouth. Out of breath especially, spoiled thing he is. Cheng Xiaoshi opens his mouth to tease as much, but no words come out, stuck somewhere along with his reason.

Cheng Xiaoshi leans back in for more, hand pressing into the curve of his back, feeling Lu Guang’s fingers tighten over his neck. Lu Guang could break him if he so chose, and he would simply let him, undone and compliant in his hands without question.

Lu Guang pats his shoulder, and Cheng Xiaoshi pulls back with a low whine. “Be good,” he urges.

Cheng Xiaoshi is frowning, he can feel it. Lu Guang huffs in disapproval, but it seems the reward is his anyway, and he kisses it away all the same. Cheng Xiaoshi smiles into it.

“Should we elope?”

It was a joke, but Lu Guang seems to truly consider it.

“You’re hurt,” he says, shaking his head, as if that were his biggest issue with it.

Cheng Xiaoshi grumbles. “Then after I’m better, we run off into the forest, barefoot. It will be the biggest scandal of our generation.”

“Is being barefoot a requirement?”

“Absolutely. Makes it more dramatic.”

“Hm,” he hums, as if in agreement. “And then?”

“And then the bunnies will be the priests. It will be a spring wedding.”

“Of course.”

“And then I shall be your knight and husband both.”

Lu Guang’s grip tightens on Cheng Xiaoshi’s shoulder, a huff of laughter sounding by his neck. Lu Guang has always been a little mad, he thinks. Maybe this was a long time coming.

Later, Lu Guang will reject the marriage and be labeled a foolish, stubborn prince. Another of his siblings will marry, and take the throne in his place. He will be demoted into an archduke, and order a smaller villa be built on the edge of his territory, proper for growing vegetables and gathering berries. He will go mad, they say, and never marry.

All the while, his personal knight will guard him, ever so loyal.

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