Yami

When your friend called Hweseung asking him to pick you up she had omitted the fact that you had drunk way beyond your tolerance. He absolutely doesn't mind you having all the fun you want on a Friday night, but he is seriously concerned about keeping your head intact and the massive hangover you will have tomorrow.

When you realize that escaping the man's hold is impossible after a few seconds of struggling, you simply give up and crash into his chest. Hweseung lets out a sigh mixed with fondness and exasperation.

"Don't tell my boyfriend about this. He'll misunderstand," you slur. You're nuzzling your forehead against his sweater despite your words. You seem tired. Hweseung might have to carry you to the car.

"Does your boyfriend get jealous easily?"

You shake your head, voice muffled by soft wool.

"Not… jealous. Protective. He knows whenever I'm… uncomfortable," you smile, looking up at Hweseung. He thinks for a second that maybe you've finally recognized the person you're talking about is the same person holding you, but he's soon proved wrong when you furrow your brows and try to squirm away again.

"Are you uncomfortable cause I'm holding you? You'll fall on your face if I let go," Hweseung says quietly, but with just enough concern in his voice for your brain to try to hold your own weight again. You don't manage it well and give up once again, somehow hugging him even closer than you had before.

"You're… comfy. I won't let go," you whisper. Hweseung chuckles softly.

"Do you recognize me?" he asks.

You pull back, your eyes drawing up to his face. You stare blankly for a moment, then you frown and cup his cheeks, rubbing them softly.

"Squishy."

Your boyfriend thinks you're quite lucky that you're cute while drunk, but his job would definitely be easier if you were a bit more in control of your actions.

"Y/n, you're very drunk. We need to go home so you can sleep," he suggests, rubbing your back. Your face falls at the suggestion and you cling to him closer.

"No," you whine. "Hug me."

"I am hugging you."

"Hug more."

Hweseung complies, squeezing you tightly until you laugh gleefully. His expectations of getting you to the car after the hug are shattered quickly, though. You won't budge unless he hugs you, which soon turns into pleas for kisses. He doesn't mind the taste of alcohol on your lips, but in the back of his head he still wonders whether you've actually recognized him or not. Surely you wouldn't ask a stranger to kiss you? If you remember this tomorrow will you think you accidentally cheated on him… with him?

After nearly twenty minutes of convincing and many, many kisses, your head hurts enough for you to not protest when Hweseung lead you to the car. He buckles your seat belt and pats your head—to which you just look up at him with pleading eyes until he plants another kiss on your forehead.

"Don't drink so much next time," he tells you. He smiles before adding, "And please don't ask for kisses from other men. I will get jealous."

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He thinks he might be smiling.

He doesn't notice when you wake up.

"So my terrifying scar-faced man actually knows how to smile? How lucky am I to be the one to see it?" you whisper, sleepily elated at the sight, and shift to lay more on top of him.

You seem quite calm about all this, and it bewilders Lingqiu. You're calm about waking up in his bed, calm about the thin robes you both wear, concealing very little, and calm about how close he is to you.

He just can't get used to it. You know all about his past, everything he's done, yet you still seek him out. He doesn't remember all the details of last night, but he does remember one that stunned him. Amidst fervent kisses and wandering hands tugging off clothes, you had whispered into his ear, "I love you".

You love him? Enough to wake up in his arms and smile at him and tease him for never smiling? Would you love him enough to stay with him? Would you love him even when he can't?

Han Lingqiu hasn't cried since the night he left Duan Xu after the duel. Back then, the tears were miserable, mixed with blood and confusion, lingering hatred and overwhelming detest for himself. This time, it's quiet. Tears build in his eyes until blinking them away isn't enough to keep them from falling. You watch him silently.

The view of you laying on top of him overwhelms him. One tear falls, then two. By the third one, you reach out a hand to wipe it. Your touch is warm. Han Lingqiu feels that he doesn't deserve it, but he lets you, anyway. You look beautiful. He can't quite believe you came back to him—that you're still alive after Tianzhixiao, and that you still care about him. After a few minutes, his cheeks are dry. You lay against his chest, listening to his heart beating quietly.

"Why are you sad?" you ask.

"I'm not. I'm happy."

"You don't look happy. Not like how I remember," you say quietly.

In your memory, there's a young smiling Lingqiu, cheerful when he was with you despite everything. He would come to you secretly after missions, covered in injuries or blood from those he had killed. He never said much, but his eyes looked at you fondly, and he would even laugh back then. You haven't heard him laugh since he was thirteen.

"What was I like in your memory?"

You smile softly before you respond.

"You were so resilient. I don't know if it was your belief in the Azure god, or if it was me. You would go through the worst punishments, and were forced to carry out the cruelest missions, yet you never let people see that it affected you. You never smiled except when you were with me, so I like to believe it was my doing."

Your hand pushes aside his robe on his shoulder, revealing soft tanned skin and countless scars. You trace one absentmindedly as you continue.

"You didn't talk much. You still don't. But you laughed with me and always complimented my food. You never complained about your injuries when I wrapped them, even though I could tell it hurt. You would scare me sometimes… coming back with big gashes and wounds all over. One time, you passed out on me. You must have been ten or eleven. I had to carry you back to your quarters before anyone noticed you were gone, otherwise you would've been punished for it."

Each word from your mouth brings memories flooding back to Lingqiu. Although he was given the antidote to the poison Duan Xu made him take years ago, his memories are still foggy. The things he remembered clearly at first were the missions, training, and trials. Slaughtering innocents and fighting against his brothers for survival. He remembered you, of course, but not the little details.

He remembered your face, your name, your smile. He remembered the taste of your food and the sound of your laugh. But he could never remember what you used to talk about, or how often he saw you. Every happy memory was concealed by the darkness of the time, and every time he tried to remember more, he was only reminded of the things he wished to forget.

"I think I was happy as Han Lingqiu," he says quietly, brows furrowed. "But it doesn't feel like my happiness anymore. Han Lingqiu was happy… but his happiness doesn't belong to me."

"What was life like as Han Lingqiu?"

"It was… exciting. The army felt like family. We would drink together and sing. Duan Xu led us fearlessly, and Wu Shengliu always defended me. I wonder what he would think of me now… if he knew the things I've done…" Lingqiu's voice falters. Your hand caresses his cheek, and he finds the voice to continue.

"We were all so determined to fight—to take back the stolen land. Even if we lost thousands in battle, we would always find the strength to continue. Duan Xu has a sworn brother: Xue Chenying. He's only thirteen, but he fights better than most of the men twice his age. He can lead them too. Duan Xu started training him when he was eight. A year ago, he sent Chenying to Yunzhou to continue training with me. We trained every day, all day, rarely any breaks. I wouldn't let him rest from the moment he woke up to when he slept—those were Duan Xu's instructions. Chenying's a smart kid. Incredibly brave. In a few years, he'll probably be better than me."

There's a hint of a smile on Lingqiu's face as he tells you about Chenying. You can tell from the way he talks about him that loves the kid. They must have gotten close in those four months.

"Where is Chenying now?"

"He's probably still at the border, leading cavalry to take back Fengzhou, Qingzhou, and Youzhou. I hope he stays safe, and lives to see all 17 prefectures retaken."

"You and Duan Xu trained him well. I'm sure he will."

"What about you? How did you come to Daliang? How did you escape Tianzhixiao?" Lingqiu sits up a little, his robe falling further down his arm. His left shoulder is exposed, along with his upper arm and chest. You shift back, and your gaze falls to his exposed skin before you can stop yourself. After a decade away from him, you don't have it in you to be reserved.

"I left when Duan Xu did. Everything fell into chaos, and nobody realized I was gone. The first few months in Nandu were hard. I was all alone, and it was my first time seeing life outside of Tianzhixiao. I never realized before that days could pass without fear. I didn't have to worry about serving others perfectly, and I didn't have to worry about punishment if I failed. It was nice," you say simply. Then, a bit quieter, "this is nicer, though."

Lingqiu's eyes follow your gaze that's intently fixed on his bare skin. You seem to be content with staring. Perhaps he would feel shy on a different day, but it's only been a few hours since your hands explored his body and he felt more pleasure than he ever has before. You've already seen and felt it all. In his mind, his body is yours, anyway.

"Is this from when you were thirteen?" you ask, tracing a faded pink scar on his shoulder. "I remember wrapping a cut here."

Lingqiu nods. A moment passes where he seems to be considering something. When he makes up his mind a moment later, he quietly sheds his robe, entirely exposing his upper body to you. Scars litter his stomach, chest, and arms. You know there are many on his back as well—you felt them last night. Some scars are faint and faded with time, and many of them you can remember tending to back in Tianzhixiao. Others seem more recent; ones given to him on the battlefield.

"Lingqiu…"

"Y/n, this is me. I've lived two different lives, but both left me the same way: scarred and broken. Now I'm stuck between the two. Not quite an assassin, and not quite Han Lingqiu. I envy Duan Xu. He already knows who he is. He's already figured it all out. But I'm still confused. How can I go back? How do I move forward?"

"What makes you want to live? What makes you happy?" you ask.

Han Lingqiu doesn't take long to answer.

"You make me want to keep going."

"What else? Chenying? Taking back the stolen land? Wu Shengliu? What motivates you?"

Lingqiu shakes his head. "Right now they all feel like someone else's memories… someone else's life."

"You won't feel so lost forever. Eventually, you'll find your way back… Be patient."

"I don't know if I can hold on much longer. I'm scared of how long it might take to find myself again," he admits quietly. You glance at the sword Han Lingqiu's keeps on him most days. It rests against the wall for now, but you aren't clueless to how he looks at it; the way he considers the option.

"I lost you once. I saw you die… at the Ming Trial. I don't want to lose you again," you say seriously. When Lingqiu looks up at you, he sees the pain in your eyes. Pain… because of him?

"I'll try," he says weakly. "For you."

Your eyes soften. You shift closer to him, wrap your arms around his shoulders, and let your hands slowly rub his back. He's still in your arms for a few seconds, and then, he hugs you back.

"I love you," he whispers. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess."

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@fantasia-films

You hear the soft, rhythmic creak of the floorboards behind you before you hear him breathe.

In the glass's reflection, Sungho appears. He’s leaning casually against the doorframe, one shoulder dropped, his arms crossed over his chest. He isn’t moving. He’s just watching—a heavy, localised silence radiating from him that makes the hair on your arms stand up.

"You're staring," you murmur, meeting his gaze in the mirror. You try to sound teased, but your voice comes out breathless.

Sungho’s eyes trail slowly from the crown of your head down to the flare of the skirt, his gaze lingering on the way the bodice hugs your ribs.

He pushes off the doorframe, his movements predatory and entirely unhurried. He closes the distance between you in four long strides, his presence immediately overwhelming the space.

He stops directly behind you, his hands coming to rest lightly, possessively, on the slope of your shoulders. Through the thin silk of your dupatta, you can feel the radiating heat of his palms. He leans down, his chin brushing against the shell of your ear, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

"Staring doesn't even begin to cover it," he whispers, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that always makes your knees weak.

His hands slide down, his thumbs tracing the line of your collarbone before slipping beneath the fabric of your dupatta, his fingers brushing the dip of your waist. He turns your body so you’re facing him, his grip firm, grounding you.

"The blue," he says, his thumb tracing the soft skin of your jawline, his eyes dark with an intensity that makes your pulse hammer against your throat. "It’s dangerously distracting."

He leans in closer, invading your personal space until there isn’t a fraction of an inch left between you. His eyes drop to your lips, then drift back up, searching yours with a hunger that makes the room feel suddenly, suffocatingly small.

"I don't think I can handle you walking out of this room looking like that," he murmurs, his hand sliding to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. "Everyone is going to want to look at you. And I think I might be feeling… incredibly selfish tonight."

He tilts his head, his lips hovering just a hair’s breadth from yours, the scent of his cologne enveloping you like a shroud.

notes　tianzhixiao = all-knowing. twilight trial & ming trial are the same thing (i think? im not entire sure? im going off of book translation) i hope things aren't too confusing ahh

Han Lingqiu's strides are even and practiced as he walks back from the horse stables into the inn. Strong steps, square shoulders, his sword steady at his sides. It's been two months since he left after the Twilight Trial against Duan Xu. His injuries have healed. His mind hasn't.

After he got his memories back, he wandered aimlessly, staying only a night or two at each small town before moving on. He felt lost, confused, and often as if his life no longer mattered—that perhaps it would be better if he ended it. He didn't know who he was anymore or what he was supposed to do moving forward. It felt as if every memory in his brain was a lie. He's contemplated driving his own sword through his stomach many times. He's only worried that his body has withstood worse, and that it won't do the trick on the first attempt.

His years spent at Tianzhixiao continue to haunt him. At night he tosses and turns. In his mind, it feels like he's still back there carrying out orders, slaughtering hundreds, fear and rage filling his body. Back then, he would kill anyone without even questioning it. The sick, the elderly, the disabled. Children as young as toddlers, even his own fellow brothers. He did anything to survive.

In contrast, his years in Daliang confuse him. With his memory wiped, he had started a new life so easily. He made friends, followed orders, used his talents in battle, had a purpose. Even as recently as six months ago, he was content at his post as a commander. His troops respected his orders. Wu Shengliu conversed and drank with him, keeping things light and always viewing him as a trusted junior. Chenying trained well under his guidance, and improved faster than any kid he had ever seen.

Lingqiu could very well say that he was happy back then. He knew what he was fighting for, and that sense of loyalty and brotherhood was something he can only long to feel now.

Yet, as he is now, his brain is too much of a mess to go back. He can't trust himself amongst his former brothers. They are all good men. Loyal, kind, strong, ready to fight for their nation and reclaim their lost land. When Han Lingqiu was among them, he didn't know of his past. But now that he's remembered, he feels unworthy to look his former brothers in the eyes. So, he stays wandering from place to place, keeping to himself, and stewing over the storm inside him.

Lingqiu gives off an intimidating impression to strangers. Perhaps it's his tense stance, or the fearsome scar across his face. Children are naturally scared of him, and the looks he gets on the streets are usually unsavoury. He doesn't wear his armour, and keeps to simple garments, but it doesn't help to blend in. The stares pierce through him like they know all the secrets of his past—all the unspeakable things he's done.

He feels vulnerable, like a cornered, wounded kitten, separated from its mother. He has no family, no home, no friends. And now, he doesn't even know himself. Yet, recalling every crime he committed with his own hands, he cannot even feel sorry for himself. Only abhorrence and shame. He wishes he could start life over again, but more than that, he wishes someone had killed him before it had even started. Yes, it would have been better if he died as a child, before he could ever make the mistake of joining Tianzhixiao.

He's staying in a small town a few hundred li away from Nandu where he's paid for a small room in a rundown inn. Normally, he would have moved on after his horse rested for a day or two, but the innkeeper here isn't wary of his presence, and the town feels calm in a familiar way. Lingqiu longs for a moment of peace; even just a few minutes of rest without his mind spiralling. He can't get complete silence here, but things do feel quieter than on the road, so he paid the innkeeper for a month in advance.

He doesn't go outside much, preferring to stay in his small room instead. He tries to sleep, and when that fails, he trains. His body knows nothing else. From his childhood to teen years to now, his body has always been a tool in one way or another. A weapon for slaughter, or one small part of an army. Either way, his hands know the feeling of blood better than anything else, and he can't escape it.

When Han Lingqiu returns to his room, he pulls out his sword and sits on the bed staring at it. It's clean and sharp. A deadly weapon he's used for years. Its killed many men with a simple strike. Would it be enough to do the job?

There's a soft knock on the door; two short taps before a beat of silence.

"Han Lingqiu? I've brought some wine."

The man doesn't answer, but you open the door anyway. He sits on the bed, posture upright, hands furled into fists resting on his knees, his sword sheathed by his side. The scar across his face is something you still are learning to get used to. It's several years old and slightly faded, running from his left eyebrow down to his right cheek. A few moles dot his neck and face, decorating his otherwise smooth skin. His eyebrows are dark and furrowed as if suspicious, but his eyes shine with a look of defencelessness.

"Miss, I didn't order anything. I can't pay for such expensive wine."

You immediately shake your head, stepping into the room despite his attempts to refuse your service. You set the tray down on the table and sit casually, as if his strong appearance and stern words do nothing to deter you.

"It's on me. You won't have to spare a single coin."

"Why do you treat me like this?" Lingqiu asks quietly as you pour the wine and pass him a cup. A few bottles would be enough to get him tipsy… perhaps enough to forget. He considered seeking alcohol as a way to forget, but he's always been too logical to drown his sorrows with liquor. A temporary escape wouldn't be worth it, and the quickest way to go into debt is through addictions.

But right now, with you offering it free of cost, he drinks. The taste is smooth and sweet.

You look at him for a moment after he asks the question, knowing he's referring to more than just the wine. It's not the first time you've brought him wine or extra food. It's the treatment he should be used to getting from you by now. At first, he offered to pay for it. You refused, saying you were paying him back for past favours. Somewhere hidden inside his head, he knows what you are referring to, but it's buried deep, and he doesn't wish to remember the full details of that day.

He recognized your face the first time he saw you wiping tables while he paid the innkeeper for his stay. Your name has stuck in his head for a long time. He could never truly forget it, even after his memory was wiped.

You met a long time ago, during his first years in Tianzhixiao. You were a servant, he was a student. You cleaned up the blood he spilled. You watched on the sides during duels, silently praying he wouldn't be the one fatally injured this time. You prepared meals that he ate without shame after carrying out missions. He remembers the taste—how he would look forward to it. Meals meant a moment alone with you. Back then, the sooner he finished carrying out his orders, the sooner he could enjoy the few minutes a day that brought any warmth back to him. You were the only break away from the kill-or-be-killed system and the harsh training. During his years at Tianzhixiao, he grew to like you. Perhaps more than he should have.

He could never understand Duan Xu; someone who could smile even while the cries of the innocent pierced his ears and begged for mercy. The killing, although he was brainwashed enough to view people as mere animals for slaughter, never truly brought enjoyment or satisfaction like it did Duan Xu. Han Lingqiu often wondered how Duan Xu always looked so happy and bright, or if he ever truly struggled as Lingqiu is now. He must have, given he also left Tianzhixiao and the Master. But, like always, things seemed to come easily to Duan Xu, including moving on in life. Han Lingqiu lags behind yet again. Always second place.

He wishes he had been killed at Duan Xu's hands.

"You were always jealous of him because he was Master's favourite, weren't you?" your response to his question is merely another one. Han Lingqiu's eyes seem to glaze over, not wishing to think about the past. You beckon him over to sit at the table, and he obliges.

You pour another glass. He downs it in one motion. You pour another.

"All the pupils envied him because he got special treatment. Better food, more time to rest, special attention and training. It wasn't fair. Nothing about Tianzhixiao was fair. I knew that the first day I arrived," you continue leisurely, as if you're telling a simple story and not recalling atrocities. Han Lingqiu listens quietly.

"I couldn't do much as a servant. You know how restrictive it was. But I saw how Master favoured Duan Xu, and I couldn't help noticing how much it affected the other students. He was painted as a role model, but no one could ever truly reach his level, or get the same treatment. I, just like Master, had a favourite student, and I was naive enough to think I could help… in some way. Even if it was just an extra serving at mealtimes, or a spare moment of my time. Words of encouragement… I thought, maybe if he knew I was on his side, he wouldn't have to go through so much hardship," you smile and take a sip of wine. Han Lingqiu's gaze lowers. "I still feel that way. There's not much I can do to help, but I hate seeing you so… lost."

"I don't know who I am anymore," he says softly. "Everything is so… confusing. I'm scared of my own thoughts."

"What are you thinking?"

"I don't know my purpose outside of Tianzhixiao. And I don't know how I'll keep going knowing what I've done. There's blood on my hands. So much blood. I don't know what's true anymore—whether all those people I killed were innocent, or whether their deaths were really justified. I want to believe I did nothing wrong… but I know that is far from the case. We killed as young as three years old… I had missions to assassinate whole families. I cut people in half, pulled their intestines out, wrapped them around frames… all while being cheered on by others.

"How does one live with this guilt? I don't know who I am anymore. I don't want to be the person who committed those atrocities. Who was Han Lingqiu? A General of the Tabai army, not a warrior of the Azure god. The name… I'm not the same person who used to own it."

"Do you still believe in it?"

"In what?"

"The Aphorisms of Cangshen. The Azure god. Everything Master Muer Tu taught you."

"I… don't know."

You smile, "Then you don't. You wouldn't be wavering if you did. The Azure god doesn't allow for uncertainty, and back then, you never had any doubt."

You see Han Lingqiu relax slightly. Your words seem to bring some amount of realization to him.

"You are Han Lingqiu. You are the same man who served in the Tabai army for the last nine years."

"I don't feel like Han Lingqiu."

"Your memories in the Tabai army show you everything wrong with Tianzhixiao. Slaughtering without reason, competing just to survive, becoming a slave without a name for the promise of future honour and recognition—you were used as a tool, not treated like a person. But you won't ever have to live through something like that again. Lingqiu, you've been given another chance. You can start again once more."

"I wish I hadn't," he says honestly before downing another cup of wine. By this point, his cheeks are starting to flush lightly pink and his words come out more honestly. "I wish Duan Xu had killed me."

You take another sip of your own wine as the words settle in the room. You've long suspected he might feel this way. The man in front of you is quite different from who you knew before. In Tianzhixiao he was ambitious and disciplined, yet always hopeful, despite always going through struggles. And with you, he was often happy.

You remember the night of Han Lingqiu's Ming Trial, when all the students in the grade would compete to the death. The winner would be named the next apprentice. You had been dreading the night for years, but for him, it was the most anticipated. It was the night you watched him die.

You lived with that grief for years, not knowing Duan Xu's plans at the time. Soon after the trial, Duan Xu blinded Master Muer Tu, and Tianzhixiao was in chaos. The child who everyone thought was the most loyal, the most favoured, and the most devout became the first one to betray the master.

Believing your friend dead, you used the ensuing chaos to escape. You went completely unnoticed. Tianzhixiao lost much more than a young servant that night. No would miss you. Not with your friend now dead.

You spent the next few years after tracking down Duan Xu again, hoping to learn why he left, and secretly, yearning for any last memories he could share with you about your friend. When you finally found Duan Xu in Nandu, he explained the night of the Ming trial to you, and his betrayal. You couldn't believe it when he said that he had spared one of the students.

Your friend still lived. Han Lingqiu survived.

You had originally planned to find him as well. You'd spend years searching for him again. You didn't care how long it would take.

But then Duan Xu told you that Han Lingqiu would not remember you, after having taken the poison to induce amnesia. It hurt. You had watched him die once, grieved him, and now to learn he still lives but would not remember you?

But you could not refute Duan Xu's reasoning. You decided it would also be better to stay out of his life. You were content with the decision. Any real possibility of confessing to him would be pointless if he was employed in the army at the border. You, just like Duan Xu, felt that him completely forgetting his life in Tianzhixiao was for the best, even if that included forgetting you.

For the past three years, the most you've gotten is infrequent updates from Duan Xu about Han Lingqiu's health. The most important contents of the letters are confirmation that he is still alive. If he were to die in battle, you at least wanted to know so you could give him a proper memorial. Thankfully, you never got a letter informing you of his death. But, in a way, the one you received two months ago might have been just as bad.

Duan Xu wrote that Han Lingqiu had been captured by the Tianzhixiao four months prior, fed the antidote to the poison, and regained his memories. After a duel, he had left the army. The only relief was the assurance he would not go back to Tianzhixiao. Duan Xu hoped you would cross paths with Han Lingqiu on the road. Perhaps seeing you again would help him clear the storm in his head.

The Han Lingqiu who sits before you is quite different from the boy you knew in childhood. He seems hopeless, guilty, ashamed, and holds a deep hatred for himself. You've never seen these emotions on his face before, and you don't like it.

"I know you don't wish to be alive right now, but I will always cherish your life. You don't have to stay. You don't even have to live as Han Lingqiu. I know it is hard to live with the guilt… but please stay alive."

It's hard to admit in front of him how much the thought scares you. You've always had this fear of losing him. It's the reason you always took such close care of him in Tianzhixiao, sneaking him extra food, wrapping his wounds yourself, holding your breath every time he escaped death by a mere whisper. It's the same reason you continued to write to Duan Xu for years, just to hear that he was still out there and living.

You wish he would see how much he matters to you. You wish he knew that you'll never be able to stop caring about him.

"You still care about a wretched man like me? After everything I've done?"

"You're not wretched. Not in my eyes. You were a child used as a tool for those in power. It was never your choice. You're not worthless, or a madman, or undeserving of life. You were just trying to survive. You cannot be fully blamed for your crimes. Your actions were all decided by others, not yourself. You lived once as Han Lingqiu. You were finally able to make your own choices. Will you really end it all here?"

Han Lingqiu is silent for a long pause. He stares at the table, at his hands, gaze occasionally betraying him to look at you. It scares him how easily your words allow him to hope again. It's the same hope you stirred in him in Tianzhixiao, and it's being relit. He fears it because he has never truly earned it. You give it to him too easily. He wonders if you will ever regret that decision. Your unwavering resolve to stick by his side. What has he ever done to deserve someone like you?

He drowns his thoughts in another bottle of wine, completely finished within half an hour. You stay seated across from him, looking far too beautiful for Lingqiu to believe its reality. The alcohol makes everything blur and meld together. He convinces himself that the whole conversation must have been a dream. He must be asleep right now.

He doesn't want to wake up. He'll lose you if he wakes up. He wants to hold onto you.

His eyes follow you when you stand and take the two steps towards him until you're face to face. You take the cup out of his hand and place it on the table, and then you cup his face, tilting it upwards slowly until he's looking up at you.

If this is a dream, your touch feels too real.

If this is a dream, he'd be happy to never wake up from it.

His face is warm and flushed from the wine. Your thumb traces the bottom of his scar. It's the first time you've felt it—smoother than the skin on his cheek and pale white. Duan Xu gave him the scar on the night of the Ming Trial… the night he saved his life. Your fingers tremble over his cheek when you think about it.

Lingqiu's breath falters and his hand raises to grab your wrist. He doesn't move your hand away from his face, instead, he presses it closer. It's silent encouragement, and you take it without delay.

The wine has made its affects on you as well, but you're far less drunk than Lingqiu. You're only tipsy enough to feel a surge of confidence, but you are very aware of the reality of the situation. Your conversation with Han Lingqiu had lasted over an hour, and he had drunk several bottles dry on his own. You're not sure whether it was intentional when he tugs on your arm, causing you to lose your balance and land in his lap.

He steadies you with a hand at your waist. His grip is tight; his strength as a warrior evident. But its also gentle; he is still the same boy you've loved all these years.

"Is this a dream? It feels too real… like you're really right here," he whispers, dazed. His eyelids flutter, half closed like he's getting sleepy. Your thumb dips along the line of his cheekbone, momentarily mesmerized by the man in front of you.

"I am here. You're not dreaming."

"I'm not dreaming?"

"You might not remember when you wake up tomorrow. You drank too much."

"Y/n…"

Your breath catches at the sound of your name from his lips. His voice is deep and rich, smooth despite his drunken state.

"Please make me remember. I don't want to forget," he says quiet. His eyes are dark and soft. "I forgot you once. I don't want to forget again."

"You won't forget me. I won't let it happen twice," you promise him, a small smile on your face. You lean forward, gently resting your forehead against his. You feel his breath steady and his body relax, as if your touch is home to him. After so many years, it still feels familiar.

You don't know how long you hold him for. Long enough for one of the candles on the table to burn down to its wick. Long enough to forget all the times you've cried for him. Long enough to feel your hearts beating in sync.

He kisses your jaw. It makes you pull away from resting against him, glancing back at him to check if it was a mistake or not. His eyes tell you he meant it. There's less of a daze in them. Perhaps he's sobering up a bit.

You start to worry if he will be agonizing over the past again once the alcohol clears. You'd rather keep him how he is right now. Warm, relaxed, seeking your touch like it can heal his broken soul.

"Can I kiss you?" you ask quietly.

It's dark in the room now, only one candle left burning. Han Lingqiu nods, whispering what you just make out to be a "please".

You would give him anything. If it meant a moment of peace, happiness, or pleasure, you would give him whatever he asked for. You kiss him slowly, getting used to the feeling of his lips and the lingering scent of wine on both your tongues. He feels right. You kiss him like you're only living and breathing for him. Perhaps you have been all these years.

Your lips break apart and find each other again and again until you lose yourself in it.

The last candle burns out, blanketing the room in darkness. You feel Han Lingqiu against you. You hear his breath, slightly ragged. Your own is desperate.

You hope he forgets all the pain, but you hope he remembers this moment.

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