i posted this on my ao3 (also glueskin) a week or so ago but forgot to xpost...lol...enjoy
It was bound to come up eventually.
Admittedly, Xue Yang didn't think it would take this long—well into their second winter together, almost a year and a half since he had awoken in that shoddy coffin house with the sting of Jin GuangYao's expected betrayal hurting as much as his wounds had.
And above him, clad in white, as ethereal as ever—Xiao Xingchen.
But they've managed until now. Xue Yang and A-Qing call him Daozhang; he calls A-Qing by her name, and usually calls out to Xue Yang with simple greetings. He never asked his name. Xue Yang never offered it.
But late in winter, after A-Qing has recovered from her debilitating chill and is back to rolling about in the snow like nothing ever happened, Xiao Xingchen brings up the subject as Xue Yang washes rice for dinner.
"There's something I was wondering about," is what he says, seemingly out of nowhere. Conversation between them has been slow today; Xue Yang had woken up with his hand aching something fierce, putting him in a poor mood, and Xiao Xingchen has been lost in thought since the early hours of the morning, hardly even paying mind to A-Qing.
"So go ahead and ask," Xue Yang says absently, turning the rice in the bowl. His left hand is cramping again, but he persists.
When Xiao Xingchen is silent, Xue Yang lifts his gaze from the bowl to check—the other man is turned, looking in his approximate direction.
He waits, looking back down as he removes his hands from the bowl, grimacing at the rice grains clinging to his skin. He wipes them off, careful not to let any hit the floor, and turns the bowl on its side to carefully filter the water out into a separate dish.
Xiao Xingchen must have been waiting for him to finish because after he hears the water finish trickling, followed by the sound of Xue Yang putting the cover back over the bowl to keep the rice safe, he asks, "Would you sit with me?"
A nervous feeling settles inside him at the words, but Xue Yang doubts it's anything genuinely serious—nothing that will give him away, and he doesn't let himself dwell on the fact he shouldn't care about this game ending.
"You're being so ominous, Daozhang," he jokes, putting the rice back atop the unlit stove and wiping his damp hands on his pants.
"Ah, am I…? It's nothing bad, I promise," Xiao Xingchen reassures him. Or tries to, anyway; Xue Yang still wonders if this is when the facade will fall apart as he brings himself to where Xiao Xingchen is seated, legs curled under him on the floor near the furnace.
"Sure it's not," Xue Yang says, keeping his voice light as he approaches, kneeling down at Xiao Xingchen's side. He angles himself so he can inch his left hand closer to the furnace, even if the comfort it provides is minimal.
"I didn't ask before," Xiao Xingchen says when he's made himself comfortable, "But, since we talked the other day...it's safe to say you aren't leaving anytime soon, right?"
Xue Yang stares at him, wondering where he's going with this. Did he change his mind already? Xiao Xingchen was the one who said, you are likely to be here for quite a while yet.
"That's right," Xue Yang agrees. "Unless Daozhang has already changed his mind and decided he's had enough of me," he adds in a light, joking tone.
"I would never!" Xiao Xingchen exclaims, sounding genuinely offended. He leans towards Xue Yang, pressing their shoulders together, and Xue Yang can feel the warmth of him through their clothes. It stuns him enough that he just stares.
"That's not it—I just, I was thinking…since I know you're going to stay, I'd like to be able to call you by a name."
A name, he says, not your name; he leaves it ambiguous like this on purpose, Xue Yang knows, because he's aware there's some kind of reason Xue Yang hasn't revealed it.
More than that, he sounds...hopeful, Xue Yang thinks, a strange feeling replacing the nervousness he had felt not long ago.
He thinks about it. About his name from Xiao Xingchen's mouth, without the disappointed disgust it had held in their last meeting; he imagines hearing it with a fondness similar to how he address A-Qing, or maybe how he had referred to Song Lan, and has to swallow back his sudden nausea.
"You don't have to," Xiao Xingchen says, snapping him out of his thoughts. He sounds apologetic and looks it, too, brow furrowed. "We've managed so far, after all, but…"
"You just surprised me," Xue Yang says, wetting his lips and feeling—a different type of nervous than he felt before. It makes him drop his gaze to his lap.
Before he can think better of it, he says, "Chengmei."
Just Chengmei. The only people who had ever called him that were Jin Guangshan and, of course, Jin Guangyao, though he had rarely bothered with it except in jest.
The memory almost makes him grimace. Instead, he glances furtively at Xiao Xingchen, who looks surprised and thoughtful.
"Chengmei," he says. He pronounces it slowly, carefully, the furrow in his brow easing as he begins to smile.
"Chengmei," he repeats, softer, and Xue Yang feels as if his heart is going to beat out of his chest. Never before has he been so grateful for Xiao Xingchen's lack of sight—he feels feverish for how hot his face has become, and he can't believe something as simple as hearing his courtesy name spoken is doing this to him.
Jin Guangyao never spoke his name so gently. There was always some underlying tone that, in retrospect, felt mocking. A reminder. Being called Chengmei was a cruel joke.
But it doesn't feel like that now. His throat aches, mouth going dry, and he wants—impossibly—to hear Xiao Xingchen call him Xue Yang in that same tone.
His smile is so tender, mouth curved with pleasure, and Xue Yang wonders what it would feel like under his own.
It would be so easy. So easy to lean in, and maybe—maybe Xiao Xingchen would let him. Maybe he would even kiss him back.
"It's a good name," Xiao Xingchen says, forcing him back to reality. He's still smiling. Xue Yang aches at the sight of it. "It suits you."
Xue Yang wants to laugh.
It doesn't, he wants to say. He wants to tell him who he really is, and a year and a half ago the thought of Xiao Xingchen's face crumpling with despair over the realization would have delighted him. Now he only feels like he's going to be sick.
"If you say so, Daozhang," he says once he's sure his voice won't betray him. "Most wouldn't agree."
He says that last bit before he can stop himself and hopes it isn't too telling. Xiao Xingchen just laughs, a sound that simultaneously makes something flutter inside him while making him feel even worse.
"Then most people are mistaken," he says, and he presses his shoulder into Xue Yang's the way he had earlier, friendly and warm. "They must not have taken the time to know you."
You don't know me, he wants to scream, but it wouldn't be entirely true. As the days dragged into weeks and months, Xue Yang had stopped pretending. He's shown more of himself to Xiao Xingchen—and to A-Qing—than he has anyone else, even Jin Guangyao, even as he hides the most integral pieces of who and what he is.
There's truth to Xiao Xingchen's words too, though. They must not have taken the time to know you. Nobody has. Not even when he was a child, sleeping in alleys and brothel floors in winter, surviving only on the pity of the cooks and women who had lost their own young. Not even in LanlingJin.
He thought Jin Guangyao would know him. He thought—
His fingers involuntarily clench into fists, his left throbbing with a powerful ache.
"Maybe," he finally agrees. Xiao Xingchen hasn't moved, still pressed into him, and Xue Yang's arm feels like it may as well be burned. Grappling for control of himself, he jokes, "Though that implies you know me quite well, Daozhang. Are you so sure?"
He puts a leer in his tone, his fake grin unseen by anyone. Xiao Xingchen smiles at him again, hand reaching to pat Xue Yang's clenched right fist. Surprise keeps him from jerking his hand away.
"I like to think so. But if I don't know you as well as I think I do, then it's fine, isn't it? We have time."
Time.
What a fucking joke.
Xue Yang knows their time is limited. He knows, deep inside, that this fantasy won't last forever no matter how much he wants it to.
He can pretend, though. Pretend that he won't someday have to wake up from this.
Staring down at Xiao Xingchen's pale hand on his, Xue Yang unclenches his fist, letting his fingers unfurl slowly. He wants to do something stupid. He wants to let his fingers thread through Xiao Xingchen's own, wants to brush the dark hair away from his face and find out if his mouth is as soft as it looks.
He does none of those things. He lets Xiao Xingchen remain pressed to his side and doesn't move his hand, and Xiao Xingchen doesn't move, either.
He thinks this must be the warmest winter he'll ever have.