A/N: Originally done as a request, this story is a series of short moments that, together, show the transformation of Zhao Yun and Jiang Wei's relationship from friendship to romance. The emphasis in this story's creation was on imagery and emotion, which is why the plot remained extremely simple throughout. In either case—my first time experimenting with this pairing, and though I don't foresee writing about them again in the near future, I suppose it's not impossible.

Pairing: Zhao Yun x Jiang Wei

Warnings: None.

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Falling Flowers

First Kiss

If there was one sound Jiang Wei had missed during his recovery, it was the voice of the river.

In preparation for their previous battle, the Shu army had camped along one slope of a gently descending ridge, at the base of which ran a slim current of water, useful for more practical purposes than the beauty the young strategist had admired. Prior to his injury – a little embarrassing, perhaps, as the outcome of his first battle – Jiang Wei had spent a fair amount of his time sitting on the edge of this waterway, seeing in its crystalline flow a reflection of the Prime Minister's calm, unwavering wisdom.

There was a bank composed of rocky outcroppings a short distance from camp, and it was here that Shu's newest officer came to ponder his lessons. Capturing Zhuge Liang's insight into one simple concept was as impossible as containing the water for any length of time between his hands; but the comparison was comforting for Jiang Wei nonetheless, and made his master's lectures seem less daunting, as though the gently laughing water were translating the Prime Minister's words into something he could understand.

He had missed that laughter, during his few weeks of separation in the medical tent. But today, it was not the gentle rumble of the water that drew Jiang Wei's steps toward the river; it was a distant flair of music, haunting the bank like birdsong and leading his steps along the edge of the playful stream.

As he came nearer to its source, Jiang Wei identified the instrument as a lute, and he pushed through the light foliage, curious to find the player amid the river growth. One hand pushed a final clump of branches out of his way, and the young strategist stopped, watching the rock-littered shore ahead in silence.

The musician was not whom he had guessed, but he was far from disappointed to see the familiar figure leaning back against a water-smoothed stone. Zhao Yun's fingers paused in midair, and he glanced at the younger man with a smile that made Jiang Wei's hands tingle, though that might have been a passing effect of his healing injury.

"Boyue."

The name said so much more than seemed possible for two syllables, and Jiang Wei held his breath, studying that kind face and the shadowy hair framing his companion's features.

Zhao Yun had visited him often during his recovery, and each muffled conversation had left the young strategist with an irregular pulse and one hand over his puzzled heart. Puzzled because the Little Dragon's presence seemed to open something in him—something warm and soft, but exciting nonetheless, like a cluster of oleanders waving in the summer wind.

Jiang Wei didn't know yet why Zhao Yun's hand on his arm felt so much softer than anyone else's, or why the Dragon warrior's smile made him warm the way even sunshine did not. But he did know that he wanted the feelings to continue, for as long as they could.

"Come. Sit with me."

Jiang Wei obliged picking his way across the familiar rocks until he had reached the general's side. He eased down onto a rock beside Zhao Yun's seat, and the Little Dragon cocked his chin to one side, ponytail sliding down his back like the reflection of the river before them.

"I am glad to see you up and moving. It seemed Zhuge Liang might never allow you out of the tent again."

Jiang Wei laughed a little, shaking his head at the jest that was perhaps too close to the truth. "The Prime Minister did not see a minor injury as any reason to halt my lessons. If anything, he wanted to move faster, as I had little else to do."

A shadow that had nothing to do with the trees above them fell across Zhao Yun's face, and the general set his lute aside, balancing the stringed instrument against the rocks so that he could place one hand on Jiang Wei's knee.

"Boyue…"

Jiang Wei shook his head again, and though his laugh did not accompany the motion this time, he was smiling all the same.

"Please, Zilong. It's long forgotten. Please just enjoy the afternoon with me."

Zhao Yun looked reluctant to abandon his apology halfway, but his lips fell closed again at the younger man's request, and he shifted into a more comfortable kneel.

Jiang Wei looked out across the stream, half for the pleasure of the sparkling water and half to distract himself from his companion's pulse, steady and captivating against his knee. But that was difficult, because he didn't truly want to be distracted—he wanted to soak in the feeling of physical comfort, the reassurance and safety that came with the Little Dragon's simple touch…

"Look, Boyue."

Jiang Wei blinked, and his gaze followed Zhao Yun's outstretched hand, studying the trees beyond them until a flicker of movement caught his eye. An oriole was hopping between the slight branches, his shining yellow coat floating like a premonition of autumn between the thick green leaves—then something startled the small bird and it took off, bright eyes gleaming beneath a thin black mask.

The young strategist turned back to the general, his fingers exploring the smooth texture of the rock.

"You must have summoned him with your playing, Zilong. Orioles are the symbol of music."

"And friendship," Zhao Yun reminded him, and his hand seemed to grow warmer on the warrior's knee, sending a similar jolt of warmth into his stomach. Jiang Wei stared into those dark, gentle eyes, swallowing harder than he liked.

Friendship. Not the kind of friendship he'd ever experienced before, he was sure. Something deeper, and stronger; something he didn't want to let go of him…

"Here. Play for me."

The young strategist was startled from his thoughts as the lute suddenly appeared in his lap, released from Zhao Yun's gentle and encouraging hands. The Little Dragon was smiling at him, but Jiang Wei hesitated, the instrument resting halfway between his seated position and the general's kneel.

"I don't know how," he admitted after a moment, ducking his head as though to hide his embarrassment from the playful voice of the river. Zhao Yun only chuckled, inching closer so that he could push the neck of the lute back against Jiang Wei's collarbone.

"Then I will teach you. Everyone should know how. It's a beautiful instrument."

Jiang Wei kept his eyes on the lute, his gaze tracing the pear-shaped body and the strings that sparkled in the sunlight.

"It was beautiful when you played it."

Zhao Yun's smile seemed a little brighter, but the Dragon officer shook his head, undeterred by the compliment and his companion's clear reluctance. The general wrapped his right hand around Jiang Wei's left and placed it against the narrow neck, holding the younger man's eyes with his patience gaze.

"It will be even better in your hands—you have the fingers for it. Try, Boyue. Just a little."

Jiang Wei's cheeks felt warm—far warmer than the sunlight could have inspired—and the feeling had spread down into his stomach, summoned by Zhao Yun's guiding touch. A touch like leaves and blossoms on his skin; so gentle and yet full of such intangible energy.

The young strategist could hardly feel the strings beneath his fingers, so preoccupied was he with the palm pressed against the back of his hand. Somehow he managed to pick out a few notes, pressing the flats of all four fingers against the strings in a clumsy chord. Zhao Yun laughed, a sound like the summer breeze high above them, and it drew Jiang Wei's eyes back to his.

"That's right. Here—use your fingernails to pluck the strings. Try pressing only one string at a time."

A brief struggle of notes filled the clearing, each one simple and slow with an awkward silence threading between them. Zhao Yun shadowed his fingers over Jiang Wei's and moved them calmly back and forth, humming under his breath to the fractured tune—and though Jiang Wei tried to pay attention to the motions themselves, all he could think about was the contact between them. How the Little Dragon's fingertips were skirting his skin and how soothing that calm voice was, even when it echoed notes so badly mangled…

At last the song came to a clumsy stop, and Jiang Wei lifted his hands from the strings, pulling them back toward his body. But Zhao Yun still had hold of his wrists, and he tangled his fingers between the young strategist's, keeping the lute firmly in the embarrassed young man's arms.

"Very good, Boyue. You did very well for a first try."

Jiang Wei laughed a little, staring at their entwined fingers against the wood of the silent lute.

"You're too kind, Zilong."

"How could I be too kind to you?"

Jiang Wei's eyes snapped up at the question, startled to find the Dragon officer's gaze focused entirely on the details of his face, searching them as carefully as a lingering touch might. The young strategist felt his heartbeat begin to race in his wrists, and only the light grip of the older warrior kept him still, their bodies close in the still summer air.

Zhao Yun pressed Jiang Wei's hands to the lute strings, and he leaned forward in his kneel, both palms flat against the stone of his companion's seat.

"Try again."

Jiang Wei watched the Little Dragon in silence for a moment—took in the shortened distance between them, and the angle of Zhao Yun's strong arms, and the curtailed intensity in the general's eyes, like the power in a thunderstorm before it broke. Then he took a deep breath, and the sparing music began again, missing beats just like the strategist's heart.

Zhao Yun's face remained thoughtful for a moment, his concentration so firm that Jiang Wei lost track of the rhythm he was attempting to create. Then the Dragon officer leaned forward, pressing the lute between them as his hands came up to steady the younger man's shoulders.

Jiang Wei felt the daylight disappearing from his face as Zhao Yun's shadow took its place, the music vanishing from his mind as the general's fingers tightened in his shirt. Then his eyes slipped closed, and there was nothing but a warm pressure on his lips—warm like the sun above them, and soft like the water spilling away from his feet, and endless as the sky arcing between horizons. Jiang Wei held his breath but Zhao Yun stole it all the same, leaving him slightly open-mouthed as the Little Dragon pulled back far enough to push their foreheads together.

"If I lived my life for no other purpose, I could never give you as much as you deserve, Boyue."

Jiang Wei smiled, warm with the oleanders that were waving inside of him.

"You have given me so much more than that already," he replied, setting the lute to one side. Then he closed his eyes again and pressed both hands against Zhao Yun's chest, waiting for the sunlight kisses with a steady, satisfied heartbeat.