NOTE: Since FFN has not updated categories or titles in... uh... years? there is no entry for Tian Guan Ci Fu/Heaven Official's Blessing by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu. This story is based on the novel, and therefore contains spoilers for the donghua/manhua (and possibly for the English language release of the books? I have no idea what volume they're up to). This story is also available with actual tags and summary at Archive of Our Own, under the same title and author name. I recommend reading it (and my other works) there for best results.
Faith
Trees crowd close along the road that leads to Pu Qi village. Their limbs twist and arch overhead as they vie for space, forming a natural arbor that obscures the view of the sky. In summer, the shade provides a welcome respite for travelers; in winter, the branches help shield the path from heavy snow. But it is autumn now, each day growing shorter as the earth prepares for slumber, and the approaching dusk falls more quickly in the shadow of the foliage.
Xie Lian has seen more than eight hundred autumns, and has walked this path countless times. He knows that although the sun still illuminates the world above the leaves, the road will be in near darkness before they reach his shrine on the outskirts of the town. It's a fitting metaphor for his own life—most of which has been spent in shadow and disgrace, while the light hovered only an arm's reach away—and is one of many reasons he continues treading the earth by foot in his guise as scrap collector, though there are a dozen more efficient ways he could travel. Darkness, he knows, is universal. He has seen it claim men and gods alike, and has battled it within himself. Conquered it, he believes in his stronger moments.
Not all his moments are strong ones. Lately, there have been fewer than he'd like.
Even so, the coming night is of no great concern to a divine being such as himself, nor to his ghostly companion, so there is no need to outrun it. Xie Lian sets a leisurely pace along the cart path, idly observing the changes in the trees and the variegated carpet of leaves that cushions their steps, and lets his disordered thoughts tumble as he walks.
His unhurried strides carry him to the stone bridge spanning the little river that meanders through the wood. It's a modest channel—little more than a brook at this point—but the waterway provides a natural break in the overhead foliage, so Xie Lian pauses there to admire the colors of the setting sun. Still lost in thought, he rests his arms on the parapet and surveys the autumn landscape. The sunset has painted the horizon's canopy a vibrant red that ignites the tops of the trees to the west. A few brightly-colored leaves drift with the river, luminous reds and yellows tipped with orange. Nature's flames, floating on the water.
Yet neither the the blood-tinged embers of the dying light nor the fiery palette of the trees can rival the hue of the robes that flutter at the periphery of Xie Lian's vision as his companion comes alongside. True to his name and habit, Crimson Rain Seeking Flower is garbed in incandescent silk of the richest red. He is not a king of this realm, but he could be, Xie Lian thinks; his raiment dulls the maples by comparison, and his beauty could drive the sunset itself to envy.
Hua Cheng seems to take no notice of the scene nature has painted for their enjoyment, but no sooner has Xie Lian stopped to admire it than he stops to admire Xie Lian. He props his elbows on the parapet a short distance away, exhibiting the same unhurried appreciation for his subject as Xie Lian has for the panorama. This is the way of things between them: Hua Cheng has always allowed Xie Lian to set their pace, whether on a walk through the woods or in intimate evenings spent at Paradise Manor. If ever he grows impatient, he takes great care not to show it—though Xie Lian tries not to detain him longer than necessary when they travel together. He knows that a Ghost King must have more demands on his time than even a martial god. Especially a martial god who tends to shun the call of the heavenly realm in favor of wandering the earth, collecting humanity's garbage.
This makes Xie Lian acutely aware of the passage of time as they tarry there, but whether due to the intrinsic beauty of the landscape or its ability to distract him from his own tumultuous thoughts, he finds it difficult to move on. The scarlet disk of the sun creeps ever lower behind the hills, and in the failing light a breeze stirs among the trees. Its shade-cooled breath cuts through the thin material of Xie Lian's robes. Before he can think to block the chill with his spiritual power, his body, steeped in seven centuries' privation, shivers.
Hua Cheng never misses a detail. "Gege, are you cold?"
"No," Xie Lian replies promptly, but that doesn't keep Hua Cheng from moving to interpose his larger form between Xie Lian and the breeze. This, too, is the way of things: Hua Cheng putting Xie Lian first, Hua Cheng protecting Xie Lian, Hua Cheng observing Xie Lian's needs and meeting them before he realizes them himself.
Hua Cheng sacrificing himself, again and again and again, for Xie Lian's weakness.
The breeze rises again, carrying with it a hapless leaf that tumbles past Xie Lian. Something about its frenetic movement resonates with his restless thoughts, waking that singular fear he has not yet gathered the courage to face. He shivers again. Hua Cheng moves nearer, offering more shelter, but it's all Xie Lian can do not to shrink from him.
This malignant doubt has lurked within him for weeks, sowing guilt in intimate moments and whispering accusations to him in quiet ones, undercutting the stability he's finally found after centuries of drifting. It's true that he is objectively happier now than he has ever been in his eight hundred years of life, but there is a shadow of culpability where there should be only contentment. To Xie Lian, remorse is an old companion: It has taken him centuries to come to terms with the evil he did to complete strangers as Bai Wuxiang, and the fear that he might have unwittingly committed something even more heinous against the person who matters most to him in the world gnaws at him constantly.
Xie Lian steals a glance at Hua Cheng. As expected of a Ghost King, he appears untouchable: His expression is placid, his mien a portrait of perfect composure. He's standing to Xie Lian's left, so it's impossible to tell where his monocular gaze is fixed, but Hua Cheng can always sense Xie Lian's eyes on him. He turns his head and smiles, and the blade-sharp chengzhu of Ghost City melts into an adoring bridegroom.
The persistent guilt knifes into Xie Lian again. He's still struggling to find the courage, but he can't bear to sustain this deception any longer. However disastrous the outcome, he must give voice to his fears. Hua Cheng deserves the truth. He deserves the choice.
"San Lang, are you certain that you…" No sooner has he begun to speak than words fail him. Hua Cheng brightens whenever Xie Lian speaks his name, but to finish that question the way it exists in Xie Lian's mind will almost surely kill the joy kindling in Hua Cheng's face. Xie Lian regrets the impulse that drove him to speak without first taking the time to plan out his confession.
The pause stretches on, and Hua Cheng's expression turns curious, then concerned. Xie Lian's teeth catch at his lower lip. He scarcely knows how to frame his sinister suspicion in words, and the last thing he wants is to question Hua Cheng's sincerity. Not when the latter's expressions of affection were such fragile things at first, cocooned in self-deprecation and a debilitating fear of rejection. Xie Lian doubts it would take much more than a careless word to hobble them again. Hua Cheng isn't the one at fault, and he's already borne enough suffering as a consequence of Xie Lian's mistakes; saddling him with an eternity of insecurity would only add "unwarranted cruelty" to Xie Lian's growing list of offenses.
His best course of action is to abandon this attempt and think the whole matter through carefully before raising the subject again, but Hua Cheng won't allow his hesitant half-sentence to remain unfinished. "Gege, what's wrong?"
Hua Cheng is attentive to the most minute fluctuations of Xie Lian's mood, so there is little chance of convincing him that nothing is amiss. Xie Lian can only march forward beneath the banner he has raised and bear the consequences. "I suppose I'm a little worried about something," he temporizes. It's certainly more than a little, and "worried" is an understatement, but he thinks it might be kinder to both of them to ease into the truth.
As always, his needs command Hua Cheng's complete attention. "Tell me."
"I'm afraid that I—that I might be taking advantage of you."
Hua Cheng's blink of surprise is quickly superseded by a laugh. "How could gege take advantage of something that belongs entirely to him?"
That response only hones the edge of Xie Lian's remorse. "It's just that… Well, since you were a child, all your thoughts, all your objectives, have been focused only on me. The choices you made before you—I mean, when you were alive—were made solely in my interest." Even his death was met in Xie Lian's service, though Hua Cheng insists he not blame himself for that. "And even after you passed over, you continued to follow me. You watched over me, you helped me, you served me"—and died again in Xie Lian's service, but that incident is an even more delicate matter than his first death—"and after I was banished, you continued taking action for my sake, for centuries, until we met again."
Through this list, Hua Cheng only nods in agreement with each point. When it's clear that Xie Lian has finished speaking, he adds, "And I will continue to choose, think, and act for your sake, for as long as I live. Well…" One corner of his mouth quirks upward in that near-mocking smile he so often wears. "Not live, exactly. But you know what I mean."
Xie Lian manages a wan smile, despite the fresh pang of guilt. He knows that Hua Cheng is only trying to lighten the mood; after eight hundred years spent as a ghost, the concept of death holds no sting for him, and his words certainly aren't targeted at Xie Lian. So often has he asserted that Xie Lian bears no culpability for any of what befell him: Not for his violent death in battle, under Xie Lian's flawed command; not for the destruction of his spirit when he sacrificed himself for his fallen once-god, debased to an echo of Bai Wuxiang; not for the total exhaustion of his spiritual power, given to free Xie Lian from his bonds. Not for the dispersal of his very being, which held Xie Lian suspended between grief and hope for a year. None of that, Hua Cheng has repeatedly assured him, was Xie Lian's fault.
It's a point on which they strongly disagree.
Xie Lian's silence is dragging on again. Hua Cheng reaches over to pluck a stray leaf from his hair. His touch lingers as he speaks, fingers as gentle as his voice. "Everything I do for you is offered freely. How could you possibly take advantage?"
The words stick in Xie Lian's throat, but he doesn't feel he can cross this bridge—literally or metaphorically—until he's unburdened himself. "I'm afraid that eight hundred years ago, I created a situation that was entirely to my advantage," he grinds out at last. "And it's continued ever since. I'm worried that I forced you into all of this, right from the beginning."
"From the beginning? Saving my life could hardly have been a selfish act on your part."
Despite the tension suffusing every fiber of his being, Xie Lian lets out a wry laugh. "You might be surprised. I was so wrapped up in myself back then…" He shakes his head. "That may have been the root of it all, but even after that: I asked you to live for me, and you did. At my command, you lived for me, you died for me, you… existed solely for me for the next eight hundred years." He swallows, buying himself another few heartbeats before the blade falls. The guilt, the apologies, the penance to make up for what he's stolen, he can handle; he's not sure if he can endure the heartbreak once Hua Cheng realizes he has other options.
But he can't turn back halfway, any more than he can draw his words back from the air. "And that makes me wonder if maybe… maybe, to you, I'm merely a habit you have never thought to break. Perhaps you've spent so long watching me that you never had a chance to look elsewhere. Perhaps you only offer freely now because you've been offering for so long, it hasn't occurred to you not to."
Reading the facial expressions of a man who keeps one eye covered at all times generally takes practice and familiarity with the subject, but even a total stranger could not mistake the look of utter bewilderment that settles on Hua Cheng's face. "You think I… that what I do for you is only by rote?"
"No—that's not what I'm saying, exactly…"
"Do you think I resent the time I've devoted to you, then? Or that my attention was given grudgingly?"
"No, I believe your actions have always been sincere. But you've been laboring under a compulsion you never had the freedom to question."
This time there is a thoughtful pause before Hua Cheng speaks. "You are saying… that I've been under a geis? That I was controlled by some kind of spell, or talisman, or…"
"No, no, I would never do that!" Xie Lian waves his hands in a frantic negative. "It's just that you were so young when we met, it's possible that you didn't realize…"
Hua Cheng grasps at what must seem, to him, the first rational cause for Xie Lian's concern. "Does it bother you that I was a child? Gege, you're only a few years older than me."
The conversation is veering steadily farther from the subject Xie Lian is trying to broach, and he is caught between laughter and tears at the absurdity of it. "No, it's not the age difference that bothers me."
"Good. After eight centuries, such a thing hardly matters."
"But that's just it!" Xie Lian cries. "Don't you see? This all began eight centuries ago. If it hadn't, everything might be different between us now."
Hua Cheng's look of confusion deepens. "What does it matter whether it began eight centuries ago or eight days ago? Either way, it doesn't change what is between us in this moment."
Xie Lian's frustration surges, elevating his voice to a near-shout. "It matters because if it hadn't begun eight centuries ago, there would be nothing between us in this moment!"
Silence, instant and absolute, falls between them. The only sounds to encroach upon it are the trickling of the brook—cheerfully ignorant of the devastating blow that has just fallen—and Xie Lian's own ragged breathing. Hua Cheng breathes only when he wishes to, but at the moment he is as still as the stone of the bridge itself.
The outburst has dredged up more emotion than Xie Lian is prepared for, stirred up all his underlying fears and long-buried memories of abandonment, and he needs a moment to steady himself. Hua Cheng remains silent while he collects his thoughts. Perhaps he, too, is suffocating in memory, but Xie Lian can't bring himself to meet his gaze.
It's only after grounding himself in a long-practiced cultivation technique that has carried him through hardship upon hardship that Xie Lian feels he can speak without breaking down in tears. He sifts the words he wants to say and finds them inadequate. After all this turbulence, he still hasn't managed to communicate the substance of his fear, or his reason for it. Perhaps he needs to explain from the beginning, so Hua Cheng can understand to what extent his own fate has been affected. "San Lang, you have always told me that you are the most devoted of all my believers."
Hua Cheng nods, once, without speaking.
"And it's true," Xie Lian assures him. "You kept your faith in me even when I had none in myself. But would you have had any reason to believe so strongly if I hadn't saved your life first? We only met in the first place because I saved you at the Shangyuan Festival. That day, if you hadn't fallen, and I hadn't caught you, you would have had no reason to feel gratitude toward me. Without being indebted to me for your very life, would you still have prayed at my shrine? Would you have gone to so much effort to seek me out later?" He swallows with difficulty. "If I had never said those words to you—if I hadn't told you to take me as your reason to live—would you still have… come to feel the same way about me?"
Hua Cheng remains silent for a moment that seems to last half of eternity. A leaf falls past them, flashing bright and pale reds as it turns in the air. He watches it tumble to the water below before speaking. "Do you remember saving my life?"
"Of course. How could I forget?" His god-pleasing performance in the Shangyuan Heavenly Ceremonial Procession was once one of Xie Lian's proudest achievements, though he's long since set aside such vainglory. He sinks briefly into memory, a brighter place than where he stands at present. "When I saw you falling, I didn't even think—my body just moved to catch you." He glances down at the finger where Hua Cheng once tied a red affinity knot. Long ago, his guoshi hinted that their connection could be a matter of fate—Xie Lian's good fortune breaking Hua Cheng's curse, linking their destinies the way these knots connected their bodies. Could such a thing have been predestined? Perhaps when a self-centered prince leaped from the stage to save a small boy from certain death that day, it wasn't his own decision at all.
What a hopeful thought—if only the erstwhile prince could let go of the fear that he somehow orchestrated all of this. That without meaning to, he stole that boy's entire life.
"But that wasn't the only time you saved me," Hua Cheng continues. "After that, you rescued me from the wrath of Qi Rong." The Green Ghost has long since vanished from the world, but there is still a sneer on Hua Cheng's lips when he speaks the name. It's hard to blame him; their association, in life or in death, was never less than murderous.
Xie Lian acknowledges his point with a sigh. "But even that was a direct result of our first meeting; he wanted revenge for the interruption of the procession." His tone turns bitter as he adds, "And if I'd been of any use whatsoever in my royal office, Qi Rong would have been dealt with long before he ever had the chance to lay a hand on you. I still regret that I didn't stop him sooner." He shakes his head. "In any case, that's irrelevant to my point. That day, in the shrine—"
"You saved my life again."
Xie Lian's mouth works silently for a few seconds. "I did no such thing!"
"I was starving, and I'd lost all will to live. You resolved both problems."
"No, I inadvertently bound you to—"
"…the service of a deity I had already chosen to worship?"
"—to a form of slavery. It wasn't right."
The little growl Hua Cheng makes in the back of his throat eloquently expresses his opinion of that statement, but he doesn't press the argument. "Very well; we'll come back to that one. What about that battle at Beizi Hill?"
Xie Lian's memory of the skirmish is vague, though he has an impression of fighting alongside a young soldier. Was that Hua Cheng? It must have been, or he wouldn't have mentioned it. Xie Lian wishes he could recall every occasion their paths crossed in life, as Hua Cheng does—but after all, Xie Lian had less reason to remember meeting a single soldier among the thousands in his army than young Hua Cheng did of the prince, commander, and god he revered. "What about it?"
"You protected me from the binu there."
Xie Lian frowns. "We may have fought against them together, but that's not exactly…"
"And in the cave, afterward, when we were trapped by the wen rou xiang. You saved me again."
That encounter, he remembers all too clearly. Xie Lian is suddenly grateful for the failing light; he's sure his ears flush as red as Hua Cheng's robes. "San Lang, that wasn't…"
"You shed your own blood to protect me," Hua Cheng insists. "It counts."
Xie Lian would argue the point, but the less time spent dwelling on that humiliating memory, the better. "But none of that is worth all that you've given up for me over the past—"
"Or the lantern-seller who collected the souls of fallen soldiers from the battlefield. Do you remember freeing my spirit?"
That reference catches Xie Lian completely off guard, and he has to think hard just to recall the incident. "That was you?" he bursts when he remembers at last. "I mean—your spirit was among the ones I released?"
"You've forgotten our conversation? Gege, I'm disappointed. I even confessed." Hua Cheng flashes a teasing smile, but it quickly softens. "You spared me an eternity of enslavement. Real enslavement, not voluntary service." Xie Lian starts to protest again, but Hua Cheng cuts him off. "I could go on, but I believe that provides enough examples to dispense with your concerns."
Xie Lian doesn't see how these isolated episodes disprove anything, and says so plainly. "And none of that changes the fact that what I did took advantage of your trust in me," he adds.
"You don't trust me to make my own decisions?"
"You were a child, and already beholden to me. I was first your prince, and then your god. That's hardly equitable footing."
"Equitable?" Hua Cheng's smile turns wry. "You know the circumstances of my birth. No matter how or when we met, your station would always have been one of high honor, and mine that of a miserable, reviled outcast. You were the only person I met in all of Xian Le who didn't persecute me. Even if you hadn't saved my life, how could I not be grateful for your kindness?"
"There is gratitude," Xie Lian counters, "and there is obligation. You can't deny that you were indebted to me."
"Nor would I." Hua Cheng cocks an eyebrow. "And you maintain that I only acted on your words then because I felt I owed you my life?"
Finally, he understands. Xie Lian nearly sags with relief. "Precisely."
"Well, then. It doesn't matter."
The relief vanishes, replaced by a disbelieving stare. "Of course it matters! It amounts to my having manipulated you into my—" Xie Lian flushes as he tries to think of a word that can summarize their complicated history. Their relationship has only recently solidified into something definite, and what they were to each other for the previous eight hundred years defies classification. He has at various times been Hua Cheng's ruler, savior, deity, commander, protector, protectee, muse, friend, opponent, caretaker, hostage, tutor, lover, and murderer—though bringing up the last one invariably starts an argument.
"You didn't manipulate me. And it doesn't matter, because it was inevitable. Even if those events changed, there could never have been any other outcome."
Xie Lian feels the press of tears again. "Are you saying that all of this was predetermined? That I had no choice but to consume your entire existence?" The outrage at his own past blindness drains away, leaving behind a hollow ache that saps the strength from his voice. "That we couldn't have found each other any other way?" he whispers.
"I don't know." That answer does little to assuage his distress, but Hua Cheng quickly continues. "You say that I would never have concerned myself with you if you hadn't saved my life. Perhaps it's true; perhaps it isn't. Even assuming that it is, it's still immaterial. Shall I explain why?"
Xie Lian's throat is too constricted to speak, but he nods for Hua Cheng to continue.
"Because in the span of ten years—just the first ten after we met, leaving aside all the rest—you had already saved me more times, and in more ways, than you can even remember. The circumstances don't matter in the least, but your actions do. Suppose I hadn't fallen from the rampart that day: If you had seen me in danger a month later, would you have refused to save my life because it wasn't during the Shangyuan Festival? If you'd discovered a starving, abandoned child taking shelter in your shrine, would you have denied him your divine grace, simply because you had not met him before? Knowing how I lived then, the abuses I endured, would you ever have left me to suffer alone?"
Xie Lian knows the questions are rhetorical, but he shakes his head anyway. The memories of little Hong Hong-er and his tattered bandages are haunting enough; he can't bear the thought of Hua Cheng condemned to that life of cursed solitude.
"That is why I have always had faith in you," Hua Cheng goes on. "Not because you saved me once, but because you have never chosen not to save me. So many times, you had the chance to leave me to my fate: You could have carried on with the procession and let me fall. You could have heeded those who warned you to keep away from me because I was born under the Star of Solitude. You could have walked past the lantern-seller, and conserved your money and effort for matters of greater urgency. But each time you saw the opportunity, you chose to help." His hand settles over Xie Lian's where it rests on the stone wall. "Even if we hadn't met the way we did, I believe that sooner or later, you would have found me, and you would have chosen to save me. And I also believe—I know, beyond doubt—that you will always make that same choice. And that is why I will always make mine." He laces their fingers together, and when he speaks again there is a fracture in his voice. "So, taizi dianxia, please have a little faith in me, too."
Xie Lian's heart twinges with a new pang of guilt. Somewhere along the path of introspection, he's extended his uncertainty about his own merits to Hua Cheng—the one person in his life who has always treated him with complete authenticity. Xie Lian knows that at times he has felt unworthy of such loyalty, but only now does he recognize how that has made him doubt the source of the devotion itself. How could he have worried that Hua Cheng, the single most constant thing in his life, would leave him simply because the option was available?
This revelation stuns him for a moment, and he only realizes that he's failed to respond to Hua Cheng's plea when he feels the anxious tremor in the fingers entwined with his. Another flash of insight shames him even more deeply: Xie Lian is Hua Cheng's sole companion, the only one who has ever dared to defy the curse of an ill-fated star to remain at his side. What kind of dread has he inflicted by questioning the foundations of their relationship? Has he caused Hua Cheng to fear that he would be rejected and abandoned again, or is the faith he professes strong enough to weather even this trial?
Faith or no, it's unkind to leave Hua Cheng without an answer. "I'm sorry," Xie Lian whispers, moving nearer to press his shoulder against Hua Cheng's. "I didn't mean to doubt you. It was never your sincerity I questioned, only my own part in compelling it." He wraps his free hand over their joined fingers, the red affinity knot flickering briefly into visibility when it brushes against the matching one on Hua Cheng's hand. "I have always believed in you, San Lang. I always will."
Hua Cheng does not speak, but leans into the contact as though it is all that keeps him standing. Without thinking, Xie Lian shifts to better support his weight, looping an arm around his body to hold him close. For one brilliant instant, the setting transforms: The stone bridge vanishes, the sky flares with golden sunlight, and the surrounding woodland tableau becomes an exultant crowd. Xie Lian is sailing through the air in the grand plaza of Xian Le, gilded robes streaming behind him, his body weightless and unencumbered save for a thin-limbed child in ragged clothing pressed against his chest. The boy gazes up at him, his single dark eye filled with wonder and reverence and gratitude. There is no time for speaking, but Xie Lian cradles him closer in a wordless promise. Trust me, the embrace says. I will keep you safe.
The next heartbeat restores the autumn dusk around them, but in that brief moment Xie Lian has felt the flare of a deeper, more profound connection between their souls than even the affinity knots they once relied on to find one another. Their fates have been inextricably intertwined since that first encounter, eight hundred years ago—but he knows, as surely as if the vision had displayed a different scene, that what Hua Cheng said is true: He would have made the same promise regardless of the circumstances of their meeting. Xie Lian feels suddenly foolish for doubting that they would always have come to this. What destiny could they have, apart from each other?
He sinks into the solid certainty of Hua Cheng's presence for another moment before pulling back to return the other's steady gaze. Even after so many centuries, it is still full of reverence and gratitude, but now the dark eye also brims with boundless, unashamed adoration.
What other destiny could they want?
Neither gods nor ghosts are immune to the passage of time, and the succession of arguments and revelations has taken a fair amount of it. When Xie Lian once again takes notice of their surroundings, the red light in the west has all but faded, and the trees exist only in deepening shades of twilight outlined against the sky. The breeze rustles about them again, picking up leaves and stealing the warmth from Xie Lian's cheeks.
This time, he doesn't mind the cold. Hua Cheng's hand is still entwined with his own. Although the Ghost King's skin is cool to the touch, its reassuring presence against Xie Lian's generates a warmth that drives away the chill.
"Come," Xie Lian says suddenly, turning away from the vanished sun. He pulls Hua Cheng toward the path that leads into the deeper shadow of the forest and, ultimately, to Pu Qi shrine. "Let's hurry back."
"Careful, gege," Hua Cheng chuckles, tugging him back to a more leisurely pace. "Walk slowly. It's so dark, I might stumble and fall."
Xie Lian knows that ghosts can not only see perfectly well in the dark, but can even illuminate the path for others—what use are ghost lights, if not for midnight strolls?—so he only tightens his grip on Hua Cheng's hand. "If you fall," he promises, "I'll catch you."
The pressure on his fingers is returned, warming his entire being. "I know."
Fin
Author's Note:
After hitting a plot hole-related wall with my NaNoWriMo project, I veered off from the novel for a couple of days to give my brain a break and wrote this little vignette that has been floating in the back of my mind for a while. (It ended up being the most flowery bit of purple prose I've written in years, haha! You can tell I was in "Write ALL the words!" mode. In any month other than November, this probably wouldn't have been longer than 3K.) Originally I intended to put it aside and come back to it next month, but I decided to go ahead and post it now so it's officially Done (TM) and I can focus on my main NaNo piece instead of being tempted to come back and add to this one.