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It feels not unlike seeing the coastline after weeks at sea, when Jinshi opens the door to Maomao standing haggard in his office doorway.
Relief, yes, but with the promise of sure footing, a safe harbor.
She looks terrible, but she is alive and she is here. Though he has been given reports on her situation, and her operation on Miss Chue, Jinshi is struggling to reconcile the blood on her clothing. A part of him wants to do as she does for him so often, to move away the ruined fabric and check with his own two hands that she is whole. To feel her pulse beating, a sure and steady rushing of waves against the seashore.
She saved several lives, most importantly her own, though he knows she would argue the overall importance of that once she has recovered her senses.
For years, it feels like Jinshi’s been trying to stave off the desperate selfishness that overtakes him when Maomao comes too close, like this, and he has grown so weak. It must be a trick of his exhausted mind, how it almost seems as if she moved first, when their hands meet.
He has accepted her denial of his affection as merely a bad habit of hers, one he has learned to take lightly. However, he hardly has the heart to allow her to deny herself, not if she so willingly found her way into his arms. Jinshi is truly thoughtless as he pulls her under with him, not willing to let this moment recede with the tide.
The weight of Maomao’s body against his instantaneously relieves him of tension, as if she knew exactly where to apply pressure to sooth him. He hardly remembers what it is he says to her, other than he knows he does not, cannot, say everything he had wished to. The scent of her reconstitutes him, and he inhales wholly, wishing to commit this to memory.
Jinshi will look back on this moment, this sensation, in the morning or on the next lonely night, and curse himself. Both for being so forward by simply holding her while she was dirty and hurt , and that he was so cowardly not to have taken more advantage of their reunion.
Maomao had come back, and had come back to him. Jinshi knows her well enough, the overexposed blue of her irises floating in the dim of his doorway served as proof that even her high walls can be worn down.
It had been both a moment of extreme clarity and all together dreamlike, to fall with Maomao.
Down to the floor. Back to sleep. Farther in love.
Love.
It's what that strange pain was, when she had disappeared, wasn’t it? Maomao had on more than one occasion slipped away under unfortunate circumstances, and Jinshi had kept his composure, mostly, even when he held himself in some part responsible. But this time, his whole entire being felt unbalanced with her gone.
He knows, nuzzling into her, that they have become far too familiar to continue on like this. Jinshi does not care. The Emperor can send him time and time again to the West and it will not matter, so long as she remains safe.
In his dreams, he smells dirt and iron, and he wishes the scent would consume him tonight. A pressure settles over his lips. It feels like taking his very first breath, something warming his soul. Some part of his exhausted brain whispers wake up but he is afraid once again of her disappearing, and so he finally sleeps.
When he wakes, he is on his side and she on hers, though they are now facing each other. Jinshi’s arm is asleep from where it pillows her head. Maomao’s curled into his chest, forehead to his collarbone, and their legs tangled together. He tries not to disturb her, other hand coming up off her waist to brush her hair from behind her ear, before settling his palm against her cheek. She makes a sound so small, like a kitten, he can hardly believe it as she turns her sleeping face up to his. When he brushes his thumb along her sallow skin, dirt gives way.
Every time he has come close to Maomao like this, noses brushing, a feeling in Jinshi’s chest surges. It feels like that time they jumped from a waterfall. A desire to be rid of everything between them crests - and though a part of it is a physical want to wake up like this, but stripped of their robes and in the privacy of his bedchambers, it is beyond that. It is the layers of state and politics that keep him from already having known her as his wife. It is seeing her caught in the middle - when he tried so hard to keep her on the outskirts - and knowing he has a far greater responsibility to Maomao than to just clear the way for their marriage. What Jinshi owes her for staying with him, for willingly coming closer, goes beyond what will be owed to her as her husband.
Just like the waterfall, he pulled her into his rapids. He has brought into her life, by his insistence and his affection, something that must be shouldered, because of who he is. Part of Jinshi believes she would carry the weight, if he asked her to, because she really is such a dutiful, committed creature. Another part of Jinshi wonders if he should bite his tongue for the rest of his life, if it will keep her from these sorts of dangers.
As long as he has known her, Maomao has asked, in her round about way, for security. Has Jinshi ever been able to give her that? Will he ever be able to guarantee it?
Maomao presses in closer, her breath falling against his collar in what amounts to a sigh, and now it is Jinshi who is pulled under. He can only hold on to her as these thoughts swim by.
Jinshi decides to risk waking her, to make her more comfortable. His window shades are drawn so he has no clue as to how long they slept or the time. A quiet prayer is recited in his head, as he picks her up into his arms, that the night is not truly over. Though he wants this nightmare of losing her behind him, the sweet dream of her return is worth its extension.
As she sleeps against his shoulder, Jinshi leans his head down to rest on hers for a long breath, and then another when he feels dampness slip past his waterline and onto her forehead. His tears streak the grime on her skin, washing away the physical evidence of her ordeal. Can his embrace, like this, cleanse her of whatever pain she’ll carry in her heart from this nightmare?
Jinshi has never had to be that salve for another’s soul, but he wants to be for her, as she has been for him, even if he knows she will not allow it so easily. Maomao soothes what burns him - it was that absolute faith in her care that landed them a year in the Western Capital.
He swallows back the waves of longing she always stirs in him, and carries her out of the office. Jinshi sees the day breaking through the window and nearly turns right back around, to shut them into the space and pretend there is more time. He feels a small tug to his robes as he passes through his own quarter’s doorway, and looks down as her fingers twists into the fabric, though she remains asleep.
Looking down at Maomao, Jinshi does not see the bustle in his quarters, of Basen and Suiren who begin to exclaim. He only sees the way she too, holds on.
“Shh,” he orders them softly, not daring to look away from her face. “She needs to rest.”
“Young master, as do you.” Suiren whispers. “Allow Basen to -”
Jinshi shakes his head, feeling very much like a little boy again, afraid to lose the thing he loves most. “Not when I’ve just gotten her back.”
With a sigh that sounds almost amused, Suiren dismisses Basen, who looks confused, with a shoo! Jinshi spares a look up then, and his loyal attendant regards him with her hands upon her hips. He can feel the blush creep up his neck but she luckily only chuckles and leads him back towards the bed, moving curtains and bedding to make way for Maomao.
Leaning down to set her upon the mattress, Jinshi gets such an intense flashback to how it felt to carry her back to his bedroom, bloody after her injury at the shrine years before. She had saved his life that day. That day, she had fallen nearly limp from his arms onto the mattress, and he had been pulled away in the panic and confusion. He had not been allowed to stay with her then.
Now Jinshi is bowing over her as he tries to deposit her gently onto her back. Maomao’s grip tightens, stopping any chance of withdrawing. It makes him smile, to remember how strong she is even after everything. And it is that thought that convinces him to climb in after her entirely, keeping their bodies no closer than the embrace they had shared all night. Behind him, he hears the door slide shut, and knows Suiren has stepped out.
Her face remains pressed against his neck, and he nearly shudders when her lips brush his skin in a quiet mumble. Maomao shuffles enough that he pulls back, taking in her face against his pillows for only a moment, before she turns over in her sleep completely to burrow amongst the bedding.
He lets his weight drop next to her, not trying to reach for her again, content to have her near for the few moments longer he can spare. Jinshi hopes - perhaps, he knows - she will come back to him in time, when she’s ready.