A/N It's been a month since I fell into XueXiao hell, and I couldn't get this idea out of my head. If you told me this was the first fic I wrote after getting into MDZS/CQL, I would probably laugh at you, but here we are. Enemies to lovers generally isn't my thing, but I found myself feeling for Xue Yang in a way I haven't for any other "villain," and I just want to see him happy.
Sucks that he's still sad here, but what can you do?
Thank you to my beta, Hypoxia, for looking this over on such short notice!
He almost fainted when he heard the news.
"The Yiling Patriarch is back from the dead!"
Xue Yang stumbled, and he unconsciously pressed a hand to his chest. The numbing cold of the spirit-trapping pouch was a familiar feeling, grounding his wild mind. Xue Yang wasn't sure how he heard it in the bustle of the marketplace, but it didn't matter. The person was long gone, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter because there was a chance.
He's here. He can help. He's going to help.
It took a moment for the feeling to return to Xue Yang's legs, but when it did, he felt the strongest he had in years. Everything was going to be fine.
A burble of laughter escaped Xue Yang's lips. Xiao Xingchen would be fine. Xue Yang sobered slightly at the thought. Xiao Xingchen. Right, Daozhang was waiting for him. He had to get back.
Xue Yang picked up his basket from the ground where it had fallen seconds before and deliberately avoided the eyes of everyone staring after him as he ran.
It was nearly dark when Xue Yang returned home; the sun had only just disappeared beyond the horizon, but it was still light enough to make out the shape of their house.
Xue Yang set the basket on the ground when he reached the door so he could break the ward he'd set earlier. When he picked it up again, it felt lighter than he remembered. Xue Yang looked down. Ah. He didn't get as much as usual — there was only enough for one.
Xue Yang huffed. Well, that was fine. He could always go back to the market tomorrow and get something for himself. Besides, today was special.
Setting the basket down, Xue Yang ventured further into the room. The fire he'd set had long since burnt out, leaving the house smelling of smoke but no less cold. A bowl of stale rice sat on the small table, a pair of chopsticks lying untouched beside it.
The unassuming place setting sent a pang of annoyance through him. Fucking Song Lan. He was supposed to take care of him. Xue Yang growled at the air, reaching a hand inside his robes to grasp the familiar fabric of the spirit-trapping pouch. The cold seeped through the thread like water, and Xue Yang held it until his fingers went numb because he had to make sure — had to see that he was safe.
Xue Yang's eyes drifted to the corner of the room where one of the beds was occupied by a tall, angelic figure. The sight of him made Xue Yang's grip on the pouch slackened. He smiled, pocketing it, and walked over to the bed.
Xiao Xingchen was as proper and ethereal as ever — his hair long and soft, and his neck free from blood. Not even his robes were in disarray. He was just as beautiful as the day he died. Something squirmed in Xue Yang's chest, and he sucked in a breath. Bad thought. Bad thought.
"Daozhang?" he whispered, hating the way his voice trembled. He wasn't weak. Only idiots were weak.
No response.
Xue Yang fought the urge to scream. It was fine, remember? It was fine. Just a little longer. Just a little longer and it would be over. Then he could rest.
Xue Yang's hand moved on its own, reaching out to brush against Xiao Xingchen's soft, pale cheek. It suddenly came to him that he was cold. Daozhang wasn't supposed to be cold.
"Talisman. I need a talisman," Xue Yang muttered to himself. He pulled out a blank one from his pocket, rushing to scrawl the messy sigils on it. The paper was already warm when he pressed it to Xiao Xingchen's chest.
Cold was just the absence of warmth, but now it felt like more than that. Like he'd lost a part of himself that was always just beyond his reach.
A wave of useless emotions overtook him, and Xue Yang found himself on the bed too, reaching for Xiao Xingchen's hand. Lying down, he pulled Xiao Xingchen's limp arm around him, securing it around his middle with his left hand. The tips of his fingers still felt like ice. Xiao Xingchen's joints — stiff from years of disuse — protested the movement, but if Xue Yang held his hand and closed his eyes, he could almost imagine Xiao Xingchen holding him back. Xue Yang laid his head on Xiao Xingchen's lukewarm shoulder, trying to quell the years of hurt and despair welling up inside of him. His nose was inches away from the wound that had taken his Daozhang's life.
Just like that, the stupid fucking feelings were back. Xue Yang's grip tightened around Xiao Xingchen's fingers until he heard something crack. He'd never forgive him for that. It was his fault. It was all his fault.
The remaining burst of strength faded as quickly as it appeared. Xue Yang sank deeper into Xiao Xingchen's warm side, hugging him closer to his chest. As he fell further into Xiao Xingchen's body, the movement pressed the spirit-trapping pouch against his chest. It was cold, and he was tired. He was so tired.
Xue Yang brought a shaky hand to Xiao Xingchen's pinkened cheek. "Don't worry, Daozhang. Wei Wuxian is coming. You'll wake up soon."
The heat under his fingers was burning, and Xue Yang's throat felt suddenly tight, his voice coming out in a cracked whisper, "You have to."
Please.
Xue Yang's fingers dropped from Xiao Xingchen's face, coming to rest over his heart. He let out a mirthless laugh as heat bloomed under his palm like a pulse.
Xue Yang shifted closer, moving to rest his head on Xiao Xingchen's still chest, and finally let his eyes fall closed. Xue Yang ignored the frost numbing his chest because Xiao Xingchen was warm again — the way he should be. The way he will continue to be when Wei Wuxian arrives.
Just a little longer.
Xue Yang falls asleep with warmth in his body and ice against his heart.
A/N Headcanon: If the soul is still connected to the body, then changes to the body should affect the soul. But since XXC's soul is so broken, it can't respond to any stimuli. Thus, even as his body warms, his soul stays cold.
There goes the open ending lol. He ain't comin' back. :')
Thanks for reading my fledgling angst baby! I'd love to hear your thoughts, especially constructive criticism because I've never written angst before. I'm fluff all the way! Hmm, maybe I'll have to write some domestic fluff for these two to make up for this fic...