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Nie Mingjue has only seen Lan Xichen drunk once.
It was an accident, obviously. The Lan family is well aware of their inability to handle their liquor and has long discouraged their descendants from indulging, prohibition likely making their tolerance even lower. But several months ago, at Huaisang’s birthday party, someone had spiked the punch—metaphorically—and the Lan brothers both hit the floor—literally.
Wei Ying, clearly knowing what to expect, managed to smuggle Lan Zhan out of the building the moment he regained consciousness, face still as stoic as ever but eyes noticeably more unfocused. But when Lan Xichen finally stirred awake in Nie Mingjue’s arms to the gentle whispers asking him if he was alright, if he felt sick or if he wanted to go home, Nie Mingjue hadn’t been able to keep a hold on his boyfriend before he literally vibrated with energy out of his arms, practically vaulting over the table in an attempt to start talking to literally every human in the vicinity all at once and at the speed of light.
In it’s own way, it was almost hilarious. Lan Xichen must’ve only had a sip but Nie Mingjue had never seen a bigger lightweight in his entire life—his boyfriend bounced around the friend groups like a man possessed with the spirit of the sun, his smile bright enough to blind people in the darkness of the club. He’d kept his hand wrapped tight around Nie Mingjue’s wrist the entire time, dragging him along like a ragdoll and occasionally turning his head to beam in his direction. All Nie Mingjue had been able to do was grin back at him, charmed at the pure, lively, kind, gentle man that had, against all reason, picked him out of all of the people in the entire world to hold at his side. When Lan Xichen had inevitably crashed into a sleepy daze about thirty minutes later, Nie Mingjue scooped him up and brought him home, left sweet kisses on his face and curled warm fingers in his hair.
Tonight, Lan Xichen is getting drunk, and it is on purpose.
It is still a little Huaisang’s fault—Nie Mingjue’s meddlesome little brother came over to dinner a few nights earlier to congratulate them on their relationship passing the five year mark and he’d very purposefully left a bottle of middle-shelf whiskey behind. Nie Mingjue isn’t much of a drinker and with Lan Xichen having the tolerance of a goldfish, it had seemed like an odd gesture—until he noticed Lan Xichen eyeing the bottle he’d placed at the top of the fridge. When he finally asked, his boyfriend had smiled angelically and replied that maybe it would be fun to get drunk together, with absolutely no witnesses.
Nie Mingjue is not a weak man unless it’s against Lan Xichen’s sweet smiles, and that is how they end up doing shots at six in the evening on a Friday night in.
The whiskey burns his throat like gasoline, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. His eyes start to water as Lan Xichen gasps for breath, coughing desperately. Nie Mingjue squints through his pain as his boyfriend heaves as if one of his lungs has collapsed.
“Horrible,” Lan Xichen gasps like a personal affront. It shocks a laugh out of Nie Mingjue.
“It’s likely one of the whiskeys meant for sipping, not for chugging.”
“Awful,” Lan Xichen counters with disdain, already pouring another shot for each of them. His eyes are already curving into crescents, his smile sleepy and quiet. Nie Mingjue narrows his eyes.
“Careful,” he cautions before his boyfriend can blindly down the next shot. “This might be stronger than it seems. You know Huaisang.”
“I’m sure we’ll survive,” Lan Xichen replies as primly as he can, a teasing little smile on his lips as he pushes one of the shot glasses back toward him. Nie Mingjue takes it with as much reluctant grace as he can, maintaining his frown even though they both know he’s already folding like a lawn chair to Lan Xichen’s wishes.
Lan Xichen’s smile softens at the corners and he leans across the counter to press their lips together, tasting like oaky liquor and a sultry promise. He pulls away too soon and Nie Mingjue sways to catch his lips before he is out of reach, tongue sweeping against Lan Xichen’s bottom lip. Lan Xichen smiles so wide they have to pull away, and he takes the opportunity to turn his head to knock back his second shot, swaying on his feet. Smiling with cherry red lips.
“I love you,” Lan Xichen murmurs like a heartfelt promise, eyes scrunching up in the corners like Nie Mingjue loves—and then he slumps forward, forehead against the counter, and he is out like a light.
Nie Mingjue snorts. He lasted longer than Nie Mingjue figured he would, at least. Nie Mingjue forces down the second shot out of solidarity before rounding the counter to scoop Lan Xichen into his arms, leaving the liquor and shot glasses unattended and abandoned. Nie Mingjue places him softly on the sofa and presses a kiss on the frown line between his brows.
Lan Xichen is a wonder, a miracle. An angel who calms Nie Mingjue’s restless soul, a lighthouse guiding him away from the rocks and safely to shore. Nie Mingjue pushes the hair out of Lan Xichen’s face so he can watch the way his expressions shift in sleep, lips twitching and eyelids fluttering and eyebrows furrowing.
Nie Mingjue can still remember a time where he watched Lan Xichen across crowded rooms and resolved himself to always loving this man from afar. They had known each other for years but Nie Mingjue’s gaze always lingered too long for mere friendship, his wildest dreams tucked away in the back of his mind. He hadn’t known Lan Xichen was staring back, would have never made a move to ruin the strong foundation of their friendship if it hadn’t been for the day Lan Xichen looked at him and suddenly crossed the space between them, just three steps, and kissed him within an inch of his life.
He could die of a heart attack from surprise kisses or of drowning in Lan Xichen’s smile and Nie Mingjue would thank him. It would be an honor.
Five years. Nie Mingjue has been so lucky.
He ignores the warm ache in his chest, the love and devotion pulsing behind his ribs with every heartbeat, and gets to his feet. He manages to take about five steps before the even breathing behind him stutters. In the singular second it takes for him to turn around, Lan Xichen is already sitting up and grinning so wide his cheeks must ache, eyes wild as he types enthusiastically at his phone.
It has only been a few seconds. Nie Mingjue can’t help but to grin.
“What are you doing?” he asks. Lan Xichen’s eyes skitter toward him but his gaze doesn’t stick, flashing back to his screen. His grin is gummy, excitable.
“I’m texting people to tell them I love them!” he announces happily, fingers tapping incessantly. “I read an article and it was about how people don’t tell their loved ones how much they mean to them, and it made me sad. They deserve to know!”
“I see,” Nie Mingjue replies, amused. He remembers Lan Xichen reading that article a few days ago when they were half-watching a sitcom, his boyfriend’s eyes going wide and earnest as he read the headline and then continued, inexplicably, past the byline. Nie Mingjue had patted him on the back and that had seemed enough to console him—until now, at least.
Lan Xichen hops off of the couch and starts errantly pacing as he types. He has already lost the ability walk in a straight line, keeps losing his balance and hitting walls and various furniture pieces to keep himself on his feet. Nie Mingjue puts his hand over his mouth to hide his smile, feeling the slow lingering effects of the whiskey warming his blood. His heart skips a beat as Lan Xichen’s smile softens suddenly at whatever he’s looking at on his phone, and then he nods resolutely to himself.
“There we go,” he declares proudly. “That was important.”
Nie Mingjue’s phone chirps from the countertop. He glances over and sees a text message preview from Lan Xichen on the lock screen filled, very coherently, with a string of multicolored hearts with “love!!!” tagged on at the end. Nie Mingjue feels like he loves this man so much he’s going to throw up, but he manages to keep it in.
It was important, Lan Xichen said.
Nie Mingjue has never been as open as Lan Xichen, doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve and doesn’t know how to speak his feelings most of the time, despite how hard Lan Xichen works to make it easier for him. So even now, with his heart lodged in his throat and his entire chest hurting with something tender, he simply replies with a singular red heart, hopes it will be enough even though he knows it will not.
Lan Xichen’s phone goes off and he unlocks it eagerly, practically vibrating out of his skin. He stares at the message for a long second, another, before he suddenly hugs the phone to his chest, right over his heart. His eyes are wide, gentle, his expression so incredibly vulnerable. Lan Xichen bites down into his lip as if to swallow down the happy grin eclipsing his face.
Nie Mingjue stares at him, speechless.
Is that… because of him?
To be certain, Nie Mingjue sends another heart. Lan Xichen’s phone buzzes and he checks the screen again before he starts to hop up and down, grin gummy and bright as he holds the phone back to his chest like it is a love letter of epic proportions, something to be treasured. Nie Mingjue stares at Lan Xichen’s reactions with his jaw hanging open, realizing—
He makes Lan Xichen happy. This was how he looks unfiltered, when he thinks no one is watching, when he sees something from Nie Mingjue that means something.
Lan Xichen sighs dreamily. It is so surreal and exactly like a scene out of a movie that Nie Mingjue, tipsy but incredibly and painfully sane, almost can’t believe his own eyes.
His phone chirps again, this time with a text message from Huaisang. It reads, in all capital letters: WTF OMG IS LAN XICHEN DRUNK RN??
Nie Mingjue considers for a minute how to dignify that with a response, but then he realizes the room is too quiet and a bolt of panic shoots through his body. He looks up and sees Lan Xichen on the opposite side of the room—drinking straight from the whiskey bottle. Nie Mingjue has never moved faster than he does in that moment, practically teleporting across the space in a dead panic and ripping the liquor bottle out of Lan Xichen’s hands.
“What are you doing?” he snaps as Lan Xichen gasps for breath, clutching his throat. “Lan Xichen!”
“Whoops,” Lan Xichen wheezes, not sounding at all apologetic. Nie Mingjue gapes at him, speechless. The more brutish part of his brain briefly considers smashing the bottle over the other man’s head, because he at least can’t drink like a monster when he’s passed out cold.
Nie Mingjue can’t even get that mad, he realizes, as Lan Xichen blearily grins at him, sweet and indulgent and flirty enough to make Nie Mingjue’s breath catch. Lan Xichen’s eyes trace him up and down in quiet but noticeable interest; he licks his lips and Nie Mingjue’s entire brain nearly blue-screens.
And then Lan Xichen sighs like he does when he’s disappointed and he shakes his head, eyes blinking rapidly. Even Nie Mingjue’s starting to feel a little wobbly at the corners, fairly certain that if he turns too quickly he might fall over. Lan Xichen giving him the bedroom eyes is not helping his coordination.
It’s way too early to sleep but Lan Xichen is definitely a danger to himself and others, so Nie Mingjue murmurs, “Let’s get you to bed, alright?”
Lan Xichen looks at him, blinking owlishly. A tiny smile Nie Mingjue can’t read flashes across his face.
“Ah,” Lan Xichen said, slurring at the edges of his words. “Sorry, but I, uh. I have a boyfriend, I’m not interested.”
Nie Mingjue stares. And then stares an extra second just to be sure.
“What?” is the best he comes up with.
“I’m sure you’re great,” Lan Xichen hurries to assure him, eyes incredibly unfocused and legs wobbling dangerously. He sighs, gazing down at his phone dejectedly. “I just wish he was here.”
Once, while playing football with a couple of friends in high school, Nie Mingjue had fallen backwards on dewy grass and landed directly on his head. He’d gotten up in a rush, shaking his head and grinning to everyone that of course he was fine, but then the world went a little like television static; he’d blinked and two hours had passed and he was sitting on his bed at home with no recollection of how he got there, in mid-conversation with his brother. It had been jarring and strange and the headache had lasted for two days before his concussion went away, his brother and Lan Xichen—then just his best friend—watching over him while he slept and waking him up constantly. This all feels a little like that, like Nie Mingjue has a concussion and he is regaining consciousness in the middle of a very important conversation, jolting awake to a world not quite the same as it had been second before.
If Lan Xichen had drunkenly said something like that to Nie Mingjue five years ago, things would have been different. Nie Mingjue would have been hurt five years ago, shying away and lashing out with a fiery temper and words meant to hurt. Now, a fond sense of amusement curls in his stomach, and he asks with dramatic innocence, “Oh, your boyfriend?”
Lan Xichen nods glumly.
“Is that who you were texting earlier?”
Tears spring to Lan Xichen’s eyes as he nods again, this time with even more solemn enthusiasm. “He’s the best,” he sighs dreamily, like a regency heroine. A soft smile plays at the corner of his lips that Nie Mingjue recognizes from lazy mornings in, from dancing to no music in the dimming light of soft sunsets.
Nie Mingjue has cracked himself over the head and he’s broken more bones than he can count, but this lovely ache behind his ribs is definitely the sharpest pain he’s ever felt, hurting so good. Every nerve in his body begs him to reach out and tug this adorable man into his arms but Lan Xichen, apparently, is so drunk that he can’t even recognize him. Nie Mingjue wants to burst out laughing but this is honestly too good an opportunity to pass up, even if it feels like his heart skips every other beat as Lan Xichen’s energy fades into a sleepy happiness, smile tugging at his mouth and hands still cradling his phone like a treasure.
And then, suddenly, he’s sprinting to the other side of the room.
“Ooh, a record player!” Lan Xichen cries excitedly, as if it were not his own record player. He flicks through the collection crammed on one of the bookshelves, fingers deft and practiced. He pulls one of them out and beams at the cover art before rushing to play it, moving with practiced ease as he gently positions the needle. A crackle, and then—
Nie Mingjue’s breath stops somewhere in his chest. Lan Xichen smiles, soft and nostalgic, eyes focused on a memory far away—this time, one that Nie Mingjue knows well.
“I taught him to slow dance with this song,” Lan Xichen tells him absently, easily, like these secrets are always at the tip of his tongue. He hums along, a little off key, and starts to stumble through the dance steps. Nie Mingjue remembers them, but backwards, always letting Lan Xichen take the lead. The smile on the man’s face curls into a laugh. “He was so bad at it,” he adds, amused, “but he wanted to keep trying because he knew it made me happy.”
It’s—true. It was at least four years and two apartments ago, but Nie Mingjue remembers standing in the curl of Lan Xichen’s arms, staring determinedly down at their feet until he could get it right. He remembers the melodic laugh in his ear and the way his boyfriend had touched him with a caress, Lan Xichen’s forehead resting against his shoulder as if he didn’t need to look at their steps. As if standing in the circle of his arms was enough.
Lan Xichen’s hands hover in the air now like he’s holding onto someone who isn’t there, his smile softening at the corners. He stumbles a step on the shaggy carpets and laughs, loud and free, and spins like he did all those years ago, when Nie Mingjue forced him to show him how to do it because that was always how the dances went in the movies.
He twirls another few times before he breaks into a laugh as if unable to help himself, clutching the bookshelf to keep himself on his feet. Nie Mingjue feels as though his heart might beat out of his chest, like he wants to bottle this moment and keep the joy and easy smiles like fireflies in a jar.
They’ve had good days and bad days and ones where it feels like the spark might have gone out. And then there’s the simple moments like these, Lan Xichen’s laugh keeping the life in the walls and Nie Mingjue, helpless, knowing deep in his heart that he would have never been able to fall like this for another person in the whole wide world.
The song changes, faster in tempo, and Lan Xichen moves to keep up with it, dancing in tune. It’s not graceful, not anything like the dances he taught Nie Mingjue—hands flailing and moves jerky and unsophisticated. Lan Xichen rarely lets himself get lost in a moment like this and it takes Nie Mingjue’s breath away every time it does, every time it happens when it’s only the two of them and they remember that they can dance like no one’s watching because the other person doesn’t count—they are an extension of themselves. They are each other’s better half, the person who keeps them safe in their heart.
Lan Xichen runs out of breath and laughs through it, face pink and smile bashful. It takes everything in Nie Mingjue not to sweep across the space between them and pull him into a breathless kiss, to hold him close enough to feel Lan Xichen’s hammering heartbeat against his own chest. He burns with it, watches as his boyfriend stops the music with a helpless laugh and returns the record to its sleeve, grinning bright enough to light up the whole universe.
And then Lan Xichen lists to the right with a jarringly sudden motion like he’s on the bow of a boat and Nie Mingjue flies back to his senses, sober enough that his instinctual reflexes manage to reach out and grab Lan Xichen’s elbow to keep him from going ass over teakettle in the middle of their living room. Lan Xichen slumps boneless against his side as he laughs at his own uncoordinated movements. Nie Mingjue can’t help but to roll his eyes, feeling lighter than he has in weeks.
“Come on,” Nie Mingjue goads him with a gentle tug. “You need to lie down, and I’ll get you some water. You can take the bed,” he interrupts when Lan Xichen’s mouth opens to protest, adorably indignant. “I’ll stick to the floor. That way, your boyfriend won’t get jealous.”
“He wouldn’t,” Lan Xichen protests, and then delicately thinks about it. “He might,” he relents reluctantly, “but not like that! He’d be jealous he couldn’t be here.”
Nie Mingjue can’t stop smiling. He gives the man another gentle tug toward the hallway, Lan Xichen overcorrecting and nearly smashing directly into his chest. It takes everything in Nie Mingjue not to swallow him up into his arms and never let him go, just cocoon them in their bed and not move for a month or two.
“Oh, this is my room!” Lan Xichen cheers happily when they cross the threshold, grinning around at the familiar furnishings. He darts across the room with unexpected grace, energy surging back to the forefront as he opens a drawer and starts digging through it with single-minded focus, practically vibrating out of his skin. He hums a quiet song under his breath as he searches, a melody Nie Mingjue recognizes as Lan Xichen’s favorite to play on his zither—a tranquil song meant to calm, the one Lan Xichen played on the nights where Nie Mingjue couldn’t outrun his traumas and sleep evaded him. Nie Mingjue feels the emotion balling up in his throat, blames the alcohol for the burn of something suspiciously like tears.
Nie Mingjue has always watched Lan Xichen, always on the edges of his life like a planet at the edges of a solar system, gravitating around a powerful star. They have been friends since they were children, Nie Mingjue’s closest, but he has always known that most people don’t feel like they’re suffocating when their best friends smile at them. Nie Mingjue has always been a bit of a brute, a jock, and Lan Xichen like fine china—perfect, priceless, refined. Lan Xichen was raised into a family with strict traditions and lofty expectations and so was Nie Mingjue, both of them staring down the barrel of a destiny written for them before they were even born.
Nie Mingjue had spent years chasing the memory of this man, dreaming enchanting things that would never be reality. Except, now, they are, and it is simple—he can stand there and watch Lan Xichen be entirely himself as if no one else is in the room, secure and at peace. Nie Mingjue never thought he could have this—
He is abruptly ripped out of his melancholic reverie as Lan Xichen, still obliviously in his own world, enthusiastically pulls his shirt off.
Nie Mingjue stares. It isn’t anything he hasn’t seen before but it always stops his heart every time—the sinuous muscles moving under Lan Xichen’s slender form, the hidden strength in his broad shoulders and carved biceps. Lan Xichen rolls his shoulders and his back curves tantalizingly, the knobs of his spine trailing in mountains and valleys down that tan stretch of skin.
Lan Xichen is grace and kindness, unexpected strength and daring smiles. From this angle Nie Mingjue can see bruises in the shape of his fingertips on the other man’s hips, spots the flash of love bites on his chest as he moves to pull on a t-shirt that hangs loose off his body, a shirt Nie Mingjue immediately recognizes as one of his own. He can see the hint of a bite mark on Lan Xichen’s collarbone from the loose-fitting collar, a remnant of this morning.
Lan Xichen tugs his pants off with significantly less grace and dives headfirst onto the mattress without bothering to look for pants, crawling between the sheets with a contented sigh. Despite that, Lan Xichen moves restlessly, kicking his legs anxiously and wiggling around with a frown. He reaches a hand into the spot Nie Mingjue normally occupies and sighs sadly when he finds no one there.
Nie Mingjue sees the opportunity to duck out before he can be noticed as an unwelcome observer and all but flees the room, heart pounding in his chest. He buys himself some time to regain his composure as he searches the kitchen for a bottle of water and a light snack. His fingers tremble as he thinks of the arch of Lan Xichen’s back, of the way he smiled at just the thought of Nie Mingjue.
He’d figured seeing Lan Xichen drunk would, at least, be amusing. He hadn’t realized it would be damn near fatal.
Lan Xichen’s eyes are closed peacefully when Nie Mingjue returns but open when he sets the water and crackers down at his bedside, eyes heavy as he smiles at him in thanks. His smile is crooked, eyes scrunched up. Nie Mingjue wishes he could take a picture but restrains himself, figures that would only embarrass both of them even more when they’ve come back to their senses.
“Sit,” Lan Xichen orders, gesturing nebulously to the ground next to the bed. Amused at the order, Nie Mingjue lowers himself to the ground, turns around and leans his back against the mattress. He tilts his head to the side so he can keep Lan Xichen in his peripheral vision, watches as the man uses both hands and all of his focus to bring the glass of water to his lips and take three hulking sips.
He loves him. He loves him so damn much.
Lan Xichen turns the bedside light off with a happy hum. It’s still early enough in the evening that the sky hasn’t completely darkened into nighttime, the glow of the sunset and the streetlights shining through the edges of the curtains. Lan Xichen doesn’t notice as he squirms around, sighing in discontent.
“The room is spinning,” he whines, curling up in a ball. A cute pout pulls at his lips. “Everything is blurry. Do I wear glasses? Oh, did I forget to put my contacts in?”
“You have perfect vision,” Nie Mingjue reminds him, biting his lip against another laugh. Lan Xichen’s eyes widen in surprise before his face creases back into a frown.
“Oh,” he comments. “That’s not good.”
Nie Mingjue can’t help it—he laughs, the sound deep and content, resonating from deep in his chest. It fills the room like thunder and he feels Lan Xichen shift on the bed to look at him.
“You have a nice laugh,” Lan Xichen murmurs when the sound fades away into a comfortable silence. Nie Mingjue feels embarrassment burn at the back of his neck, doesn’t have the chance to bother hiding it before Lan Xichen shifts again, this time rolling over until he’s facing away, his voice muffled when he murmurs, “Nie Mingjue has a nice laugh. Sometimes it’s hard to get him to laugh but I try really hard to. His whole face lights up.”
Lan Xichen is going to put him into an early grave. Nie Mingjue manages to take a calming breath, remembers to play along for at least a little while longer. “Is that your boyfriend?”
“Mhm.” Lan Xichen sighs again. “He’s so tough and strong and stern but my favorite part is when he smiles.”
Nie Mingjue hesitates. “Does he not smile often?”
“He does! At me,” his boyfriend responds thoughtfully. He repositions. “And his brother, sometimes. He’s gotten better about it.”
It leaves just a bit of a sour note in his stomach because it’s honest. Nie Mingjue suddenly isn’t sure if he wants to play this game anymore, doesn’t want to press Lan Xichen to say things that he isn’t even sure he means—
“You would like him,” his boyfriend slurs with a small laugh. “Everyone likes him. He’s so cool and untouchable, you know? Like a movie star. Serious face and broad shoulders and so charming, especially when he doesn’t mean to be. And attractive. Everyone notices that part.” A pause. “He doesn’t always show it on his face but I know he loves me. He sent me two hearts today. Did you see?”
“I saw,” Nie Mingjue chokes out.
There’s an uncoordinated shuffling from above him. He glances up to see Lan Xichen now cuddling Nie Mingjue’s pillow, holding his face against it.
“He makes me happy,” Lan Xichen announces into the pillow, a little muffled but loud and proud enough that Nie Mingjue hears it. “Maybe he’s not perfect, but I’m not either. Sometimes I get really sad and he’ll make me hot cocoa but he’ll leave it on the side table for me to find and pretends he doesn’t know what I’m talking about, like there’s anyone else who could’ve made it for me. And sometimes he gets really angry but I know it’s because he cares a lot and doesn’t know how else to show it.” A sleepy smile crosses Lan Xichen’s face, arms flexing around the pillow. When he whispers again, it sounds suspiciously choked with tears: “He’s my favorite person.”
Nie Mingjue has known Lan Xichen more than a decade, since they were children still growing into their bones. He has seen him in this highest highs and his lowest lows, has seen him laugh so hard tears roll down his face and has seen his hauntingly empty eyes in a funeral procession. Nie Mingjue knows Lan Xichen as well as he knows himself, like notes to a song he can never forget and never wants to; he loves him with his whole heart and body and soul, would give anything to make sure Lan Xichen is happy. It’s otherworldly to hear such a gentle, easy confession. To know how deep his devotion runs and to hear it echo in perfect harmony with the man he loves the most in the world, the universe.
Nie Mingjue has never been good with words but he wants to yell it from the rooftops. He wants to wake the entire city with all of the emotion in his chest, scream it at the top of his lungs until he’s hoarse.
He looks at the distance between his skin and Lan Xichen’s, thinks that he has never felt so close to this man and yet been so far away. Lan Xichen hums happily into Nie Mingjue’s pillow, eyes closed but hints of a fond smile on his lips.
Nie Mingjue watches him and doesn’t say anything. He feels the universe opening up between his ribs, feels stars and suns heating him up from the inside out.
It’s silent for so long that Nie Mingjue is sure his boyfriend is asleep. But then Lan Xichen moves again, just slightly, before he whispers into the silence, “Do you have someone you love?”
Nie Mingjue looks back to him. Lan Xichen’s back is to him, whole body curled around the pillow. As the room grows darker, he can still make out the gentle rise and fall of Lan Xichen as he breathes.
“Yes,” Nie Mingjue murmurs, heart in his throat. “With my whole heart.”
“That’s sweet,” the man in question softly replies in a tone like wonder. Nie Mingjue hears a smile in his voice. “Do they know?”
“I hope so.” It’s easier to say these things now, when Lan Xichen’s back is to him and when he’s not sure he’ll remember it in the morning. The whiskey’s loosened his tongue enough that he continues quietly, “I try to be the best person I can be for him, to be anything he could ever want. Sometimes I’m not sure if I succeed, but he never walks away. Even when I’m at my worst, he stays. He means everything to me even if I’m not always sure how to tell him.”
For a long moment, Lan Xichen is silent and Nie Mingjue watches him breathe, wondering if he’s fallen asleep. And then his boyfriend whispers, “I’m sure he knows. If you say things like that to him, he knows.”
“I don’t do it often enough.”
“There’s no such thing,” Lan Xichen murmurs sleepily, reverently. “Love is in the little things.”
Nie Mingjue remembers how he mentioned the hot cocoa like a highlight, feels sparks under his skin and is glad no one can see how his lips turn up into a quiet, pleased smile. Nie Mingjue has spent a lot of the last five years wondering how Lan Xichen could love him back when he’s forgotten about the ways he’s showed he does—text messages of support on the hard days, buying his favorite foods on a grocery run, letting him have his space when it needs it. Lan Xichen will sometimes write notes and leave them around the apartment for Nie Mingjue to find, little reminders of how much he loves him or, if Lan Xichen’s on a trip, how much he misses him.
Lan Xichen loves him. Despite the odds, he has put his lot in with Nie Mingjue for five amazing years. Nie Mingjue is greedy, will do whatever it takes for another five. And another. Another.
Nie Mingjue has loved Lan Xichen for years and will love him for the rest of his life. It’s a comfort, a peace of mind, to know Lan Xichen loves him back.
He’ll tell him how much he loves him, but not until he’s sober. Not until he can look into his eyes and see the awareness and the love, not until the smiles are just for him and the soft touches are awake, reverent. Purposeful.
Lan Xichen’s breathing evens out into a peaceful rhythm, the twilight skies and gentle quiet lulling him to sleep. Nie Mingjue stays on the floor for a little while longer, listening to the man he loves breathe and thinks, suddenly, about the ring he’s been hiding in his sock drawer for a year and a half.
Nie Mingjue has always flinched away from the things that are good for him. He ran from happy things and threw himself into rage, used it as a fined honed weapon to keep people away, to save himself from getting hurt. But Lan Xichen has always been there, smile soft and understanding, whispers soothing as he talked him down. Lan Xichen has seen him struggle and he has helped him up; he’s sparred with him and kissed him until he was breathless and made him so angry he’s wanted to scream.
Nie Mingjue watches him breathe and loves him. It’s that simple.
He moves slowly, quietly, creeping like a thief stealing away these precious moments. Nie Mingjue manages to pull the pillow from Lan Xichen’s grip, the other man muttering incoherently, unhappily as he hugs the blanket instead, but Nie Mingjue wastes no time in sliding beneath the covers toward him. As if in a magnetic pull, Lan Xichen rolls toward him, his fingers finding Nie Mingjue’s chest. He makes a happy hum and wiggles closer, curling his arm tight around his waist. Nie Mingjue pulls him the rest of the way, letting Lan Xichen’s head settle in his favorite spot over his heart. Like the strings cut on a marionette, Lan Xichen goes boneless against him, hugging him tighter still as the movements of Nie Mingjue’s chest lulls him back to deep sleep.
Nie Mingjue presses a kiss to Lan Xichen’s forehead and watches the man’s lips twitch up into the ghost of a smile. He holds him a little closer, lets the soothing sound of him breathing guide him to sleep.
~*~
Nie Mingjue wakes to the sound of pained groaning.
He’s used to waking early with Lan Xichen’s eerily accurate circadian rhythm, five in the morning almost to the dot, but it’s new to wake up to pitiable whimpers. He squints an eye open and sees Lan Xichen inching miserably toward the pain pills and crackers on the bedside table, wincing against the light through the blinds. Nie Mingjue watches in solemn amusement as Lan Xichen manages to choke down a few white pills and a few tentative sips of water, opening his eyes only enough so he doesn’t spill everything down his front.
Nie Mingjue can’t help but to grin. “Hangover?” he asks, voice hoarse from sleep, and Lan Xichen looks over at him. He pouts pathetically, eyes bloodshot and self-pitying.
“Why do people drink?” he demands miserably, crawling back across the space to nestle back in his spot on Nie Mingjue’s chest. He wraps his arms around his middle, wincing at every rough movement of his head. “It’s like someone put my brain in a blender and then slapped it back into my skull.”
“You drank a little too much for a lightweight,” Nie Mingjue reminds him, running a soothing hand through his hair. Lan Xichen makes a noise like a purr, wiggles as close as he could get without climbing directly into Nie Mingjue’s skin. Nie Mingjue presses a kiss to the top of his head and ducks his head to do the same for his forehead. Lan Xichen makes another happy noise, nuzzles into his chest.
After a moment, Lan Xichen mutters, “I’m never drinking again.”
“Only bad drunks say that,” Nie Mingjue murmurs back, and laughs when Lan Xichen pinches his side. He tangles his fingers in his boyfriend’s hair, closes his eyes as he grins up at the ceiling.
“It’s all a blur,” Lan Xichen tells him pathetically, frowning. “Did I do something embarrassing?”
“Nothing too bad.”
He doesn’t seem to believe him, eyes squinting up at him in a dubious curve. Nie Mingjue ignores him, lets one of his hands trail from his hair and down his back until he feels Lan Xichen shiver.
He loves the lazy mornings the most, the stolen pieces of the day when the world is coming to life outside of their window. There is nothing to bother them, nothing more important than the beat of Lan Xichen’s heart under his hands. Lan Xichen is still wearing his oversized shirt, hair ruffled from tossing and turning, and Nie Mingjue can’t help but to smile down at him, heart warm beneath his ribs.
They listen to the world come alive for another handful of minutes, birds chirping and cars passing by. Suddenly, Lan Xichen sits up, grimaces through clenched teeth at the quick movement. A slow-dawning horror curls on his face, embarrassment and dread.
“Did I forget who you were?” Lan Xichen whispers, horrified. The reaction is so unexpected that Nie Mingjue can’t help but to laugh, hands curling around Lan Xichen’s wrists when it seems as though the other man is going to pull away.
“You also,” he laughed, “seemed to think you weren’t wearing your glasses.”
“I don’t—” Lan Xichen starts to say, and then realized. He groans, puts his head in his hands like he’s ashamed. He peeks at Nie Mingjue through the lines between his fingers, mouth still open in silent horror even as Nie Mingjue keeps laughing, grinning at him. “Oh no,” Lan Xichen moaned into his palms, “what did I say?”
“You texted almost everyone in your phone to tell them you love them.”
Lan Xichen drops his hands and turns his fully horrified gaze onto Nie Mingjue. He knows it’s genuine, knows Lan Xichen is actually very embarrassed, but he can’t help but to roar with laughter, reaching up to put his hand over his eyes in a habit. When he drops it, Lan Xichen is smiling at him softly, fingertips reaching out to touch his chest like he doesn’t even notice he’s reaching for him.
Nie Mingjue grabs his other hand, presses a kiss to the knuckles. Hides his face there for a moment as he gathers his thoughts, lips moving as he tries to frame the words he wants to say.
“And,” he murmurs, eyes on Lan Xichen’s fingers wrapped around his, “you told me about your boyfriend, and how much you love him.”
For a moment, there is only silence. Nie Mingjue doesn’t look at Lan Xichen, simply stares at his slender fingers, waits. After a silence the span of only a few heartbeats, Lan Xichen’s hand pulls from his to press against his chest, right over his heart. Nie Mingjue places his hand over his and glances up, feeling suddenly and inexplicably nervous. Knows he doesn’t need to, because Lan Xichen is beaming at him, hands warm with sleep and hair a wreck and emotions on his face for Nie Mingjue to read. Love and joy and something like a promise of forever.
Lan Xichen moves slowly for the sake of his pounding head but still hooks a knee around Nie Mingjue to straddle his hips, free hand reaching up to touch his cheek. Lan Xichen presses down slowly as if to savor it, smile shifting into a grin as he closes the distance between them. Nie Mingjue can do nothing more than clutch him close, hand hooking around his knee and chin tilted at the right angle.
Lan Xichen stops so close to his lips he can feel them like a memory, warm and curled upward in something like smug delight. They hover there for a breath longer, wrapped in anticipation and a gentle teasing—and then Lan Xichen shifts and closes the distance, teeth and tongue and little rougher than Nie Mingjue expected but he makes a pleased noise into his mouth anyway, curls his hand a little tighter.
Nie Mingjue moves his hand from Lan Xichen’s to thread through his hair, keeps him there. Lan Xichen huffs in amusement but leans a little more of his weight onto Nie Mingjue, lets him take the lead even as he bites down onto Nie Mingjue’s bottom lip in petty revenge, makes him laugh deep in his chest, lightheaded and breathless and weak but only to this man.
He loses himself in it for just a few seconds more before inching back. Lan Xichen makes a discontented move and tries to chase his lips but Nie Mingjue puts a hand on his shoulder, holds him back. Lan Xichen’s hand over his heart curls into his shirt as he narrows his eyes down at him. With the sunlight streaming in through the breaks in the curtains, Lan Xichen is bathed in light. A heavenly glow.
Nie Mingjue touches a fingertip to Lan Xichen’s lips. Pretends they both don’t notice he’s shaking.
“I love you,” he says because he hasn’t said it yet, because he doesn’t always think to, feels a newfound determination lingering in his bones to tell him at every opportunity. He thinks about the way Lan Xichen’s face lit up with just one text message and wants to see that happiness in his smile every single day for the rest of their lives.
Lan Xichen’s smile is slow and bright, more than sunlight and warmer than the emotions in Nie Mingjue’s chest. He moves his hand from Nie Mingjue’s heart to his face, traces along his jawline and his cheekbone. His eyes are molten bronze in the daylight, hypnotic and lovely.
Lan Xichen touches his eyelids. His chin.
“You’re my favorite person,” he whispers, not because he remembers but because it’s true, and Nie Mingjue smiles through the sting in his eyes, the rush of overwhelming warmth in his veins. He cradles Lan Xichen’s face in his hands, traces his smile, and loves him so much he can barely breathe. Lets every rush of emotion show on his face, static in his fingertips and the sun in Lan Xichen’s smile. No longer afraid to let the light in.
He kisses him again, because it’s simple.
Because love is in the little things.