Archive of Our Own

I survived

and now I have deep colours

all across my endless skies.

—Laura Corns

The sky is bright tonight.

A blanket of black and blue, patterned with stars and drifting clouds. It hangs above the world like a beautiful watercolour painting, the ones only rich people can afford. And like such a painting, it is curling around the edges, blue rolling inwards and turning to purple and orange where flames lick up into the sky, spewing fountains of smoke.

Xue Yang watches, mesmerised by the dancing plumes that reach for the clouds, the colours of the fire bleeding into the sky.

Then the view fades, turning black under the feeling of gentle fingers crossing over his eyes.

"Guess who," a voice trills a few steps ahead of him, making the corner of his mouth twitch. The voice doesn't belong to the hands covering his face, but Xue Yang knows them all too well, just as he knows the voice.

They are all he has known his entire life.

When Xue Yang has lived seven summers, he lies on the ground of a dirty alley and wishes for death to come fast.

His memories from that time are vague, like a reflection on water disturbed by too many ripples. He remembers flashes of rage, the taste of tears and blood, and a pain in his hand so bright as though the sun itself had touched him. 

Xue Yang stares up into the sky with glassy eyes, trying to distract himself from the hunger, the pain, and the cold. Clouds pass by lazily, leaving behind a vast expanse of azure that is slowly washed away by waves of magenta. The first stars emerge from the swirls of colour, the distant lights shimmering like lanterns.

Among the stars, a boy appears.

"Are you dead?" He is a soft shadow before the sky, looking down at Xue Yang with bright eyes. Like the stars. 

Xue Yang tries to shake his head, a mangled noise escaping his parched throat. No, he thinks, but I want to be. I don't want to hurt anymore.

The boy tilts his head, a messy black braid falling over his shoulder as he turns around, calling for someone. Steps come closer and words are exchanged, too muffled for Xue Yang to understand. More steps come and go, but the boy from the stars remains at his side. Perhaps he really is here to take Xue Yang away.

He is touching him now, fleeting fingers brushing over his body, down his left arm where Xue Yang knows the skin to be black and oozing. Then whoever else is with the boy returns. The two of them speak quickly, their voices calm and serious. After that, the boy bends down until Xue Yang can see his face.

He is beautiful.

"I'm sorry," the boy whispers.

It's all right, the fingers of Xue Yang's good hand twitch with the need to touch him. If it's you, you can have me. Take me away.

"Survive, please."

The boy vanishes, and the heavy weight of a knee presses down on Xue Yang's chest and shoulder, causing him to whimper. Xue Yang remains awake long enough to remember the searing pain in his hand, the smell of burning flesh and his own voice, raw and screaming, before he faints.

Xue Yang survives.

He wakes three nights later with sweat on his brow and a pair of arms holding him close. One finger of his left hand is gone. The other four he can't move.

Panic rises in his gut.

"Easy," a strange voice warns, tightening the embrace.

It belongs to the boy holding Xue Yang, looking down at him with a stern face.

He isn’t the boy who came from the stars. This one is older, his eyes dark like pearls. He helps Xue Yang sit up, holding a cup to his mouth. Xue Yang laps the water up, swallowing greedily until he has to cough, his lungs hurting. The boy keeps him upright with careful hands on his shoulders, holding him without hurting him.

Steps echo through the darkness, drawing nearer until they come to a halt with a squeal of delight. Xue Yang looks up, water dribbling down his chin, and is met by the bright eyes from his delirious dreams. Star boy smiles, the dirt on his face and the bloody lip only making him more radiant. He laughs and falls to his knees in front of them, revealing a steamed bun he has hidden away in the folds of his clothes.

"You're awake," he says, tearing apart the bun in his lap. "What a relief." He hands one third of the bun to the other boy, smile never fading, keeping one for himself. The biggest piece, he holds out to Xue Yang.

"Eat," he says, nibbling on his own bite. "You must be hungry."

The two boys feed him, and Xue Yang eats.

They take care of his mangled hand, and Xue Yang's bones heal.

They give him their names, and Xue Yang carves them into his heart.

Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan are orphans, just like him. Homeless, older, but just as lost and unwanted in this world as Xue Yang. They have nothing except each other.

Xue Yang hasn't had anything, anyone, for a very long time.

When Xiao Xingchen smiles at him, it is like the stars themselves shine upon him. When Song Lan holds his hand, not bothering about a missing finger, it pushes Xue Yang to the verge of tears.

Having nothing has never meant so much.

Life is easier as a trio.

At night, they share whatever rug they can find as a blanket, huddled up together for warmth. By day, they roam the streets, begging, stealing, lying. Xiao Xingchen is the best at stealing. His smile makes him seem harmless and the beatings less harsh whenever he gets caught. On most days, he is the one bringing them food.

The year Xue Yang turns twelve, Xiao Xingchen doesn't come back to their usual hiding spot. They wait for him, stoking the meagre fire with dead twigs. When the moon is at its zenith, they start searching for him.

It is Xue Yang who finds him. He stops because his bare feet catch on something soft, a thin scrap of cloth, leading him away like a trail. At the end, he finds a heap of shivering rags and tousled hair.

"Are you dead?" He tries to make light. "You can't die, you need to feed us."

When he reaches out to touch Xiao Xingchen, the boy flinches. His voice is brittle like glass. "A-Yang?"

Xue Yang laughs, fighting down the panic bubbling up in his chest. "Who else would I be? Are you—"

All words unravel on Xue Yang's tongue when he turns Xiao Xingchen over and all he sees are empty sockets that used to hold the stars. He freezes, still as a rock when bloody hands reach for his shoulders, clinging to him with trembling fingers.

They sit together silently, Xue Yang being unable to move, until Song Lan stumbles over them.

He hauls them up and drags them back to the fire. There, he instructs Xue Yang how to hold Xiao Xingchen's face in between his knees before he burns out his wounds.

The morning after, Xue Yang steals a silk scarf from the market. He takes it from the very same vendor that is responsible for what happened to Xiao Xingchen. The cart with his wares bears the emblem of the Chang family.

The scarf is worth several days of food. Xue Yang uses it to dab the sweat from Xiao Xingchen's face before he ties it over his eyes. Then he goes to steal them food, because Song Lan will hold Xiao Xingchen until he wakes, just like he held Xue Yang all these years ago.

After Xiao Xingchen wakes, they find a cane for him.

A nice one, made from bamboo, no splinters. Xiao Xingchen's fingers travel along the length of it and he smiles, his face pale, the bandage covering his eyes sullied. "Thank you."

Xue Yang wants to hit him, slap him, shake him.

He is livid, and he screams at Xiao Xingchen to be angry too, shouts until Song Lan rises and shouts back—he never shouts. But that day he does, until fists fly and blood spills, and Xiao Xingchen stumbles forward with outstretched hands, begging them to stop, telling them it doesn't matter, and Xue Yang wishes Xiao Xingchen had his eyes back just so he could claw them out again.

"You deserve it, you idiot!" he screams.

Then he takes off, leaving them for the first time in three years. Nobody comes searching for him.

He returns, eventually.

After what must have been a week, or maybe two. Xue Yang doesn't count. He comes back to the same dirty corner of an alley that has been their home these past years and waits. Gets a fire going when night falls. Sits there until two familiar figures appear in the distance.

Song Lan stops Xiao Xingchen when they are close enough, one arm held out in front of him. He leans over and mutters something into his ear, his eyes never leaving Xue Yang. There is still a black shadow around his eye where he got hit during their spat. Xue Yang thinks it is only fair for the broken nose he received.

"A-Yang," Xiao Xingchen breaks the silence, and the name makes a shiver run down Xue Yang's spine.

"Grab your stuff," he says, as if he hadn't just returned after running off. "I have to show you something."

He takes them to the other side of the city, right to the abandoned house he has spent the last nights in.

It isn't much. The building must have been abandoned for being decrepit and mouldy, a part of the roof having come down already. But there is a kitchen and an intact room big enough to house three dirty street rats, and even a well with fresh water.

"We can stay here for the winter," Xue Yang says as he concludes the brief tour. "It'll be warm."

"You'll stay with us then?" Xiao Xingchen asks, voice hopeful as his cane taps along the cobble stones towards Xue Yang.

He is learning fast.

Xue Yang bites his lip to keep the answer inside, but he meets Xiao Xingchen halfway, slipping past the cane to wrap his arms around him. "I was wrong," he murmurs, Xiao Xingchen's hair tickling his nose. "You don't deserve it."

It wrings a soft chuckle from Xiao Xingchen, and he runs his fingers over Xue Yang's head, giving him a gentle pat. "I'll have a look around. To get myself… acquainted."

The tapping of the cane moves away, and then it is only Song Lan and Xue Yang in the courtyard, glaring daggers at each other. Song Lan is the first to move, taking a step forward. Then another, and another, until he is right in front of Xue Yang.

"You had him worried sick for you," he growls. "Never run off like that again."

Xue Yang throws him a dirty grin. "So what if I do?" He snarls, "Will you—"

All air is being squeezed from Xue Yang's lungs as Song Lan pulls him into a tight hug. 

"Don't."

Xue Yang snickers, but he can't help his fingers from digging into the coarse fabric of Song Lan's clothes as he hugs him back just as fiercely.

They spend the next winter at the house. And then summer. In the early days of their second winter, Song Lan brings back the first cultivation manual.

There is a temple with a library in the city, and some archivist is always in need of an errand boy. It's poorly paid work, but it is something, and occasionally Song Lan slips a script into his sleeve and takes it back to Xiao Xingchen and Xue Yang. None of them can read it at first. So they learn by what little images the books hold, explaining them to Xiao Xingchen and committing them to memory before Song Lan takes the book back, none of the librarians noticing that it had been missing in the first place.

One day, Xue Yang steals some brushes and a cheap inkstone, and when he shows them to Song Lan, his face lights up with the brightest smile he has ever seen. It makes his stomach feel weird.

Night after night, they sit together in front of the fire, hands stained with ink. Song Lan demonstrates stroke after stroke, for Xue Yang on paper, for Xiao Xingchen on his palm. It's during one of these calligraphy lessons that Xue Yang notices that there is a certain way Song Lan looks at Xiao Xingchen at times. Different from how he normally looks at him.

Especially after Xiao Xingchen has fallen asleep and Song Lan gets a blanket to cover him before he and Xue Yang continue practising reading and writing.

They are the same sort of looks Xue Yang himself is giving Xiao Xingchen.

He teases Song Lan about it some weeks later—after Xiao Xingchen has once more fallen asleep, chest rising and falling as he rests next to the fire.

"You want him to kiss you, don't you?" Xue Yang taunts, his grin turning ugly. "Like a cut-sleeve."

There is a clanking noise when Song Lan jumps to his feet, throwing over a cup of water. The liquid spills over their brushes, turning their scriptures into pale sheets of grey that sully the floorboards. Xue Yang laughs, scrambling away on his knees.

"I bet you want him to touch you and map you with his hands like he usually does… but naked!" Xue Yang taunts as he ducks beneath one of Song Lan's arms.

On the other side of the room, Xiao Xingchen makes a soft noise, shifting in his sleep. Both boys freeze at the sound, eyes flitting over to where he rolls from one side to the other, curling up closer to the fire. Silence falls around them, so tense Xue Yang can taste it.

He sneers, whispering at Song Lan, "And then, you'd have him do it again with just his tongue!"

At least that is what Xue Yang wants. But he thinks they might want the same, for once. Either way, if Xue Yang can't have it, neither can Song Lan.

He dodges the first of Song Lan's angry swings, but the second one catches him behind the knee and Xue Yang falls to the floor with a dull noise, Song Lan's arms pushing him down. He hisses and scratches, like a cat, even tries to bite—

And then lips press against his own, clumsy, and wet, teeth clashing against teeth so hard his brain rattles in his skull, and his mind goes blank. 

It's disgusting, it's terrible—Xue Yang never wants it to stop.

When Song Lan pulls back, his face is flushed, and his eyes dart to the sleeping Xiao Xingchen.

"Shut up!"

Xue Yang gives a breathless laugh, leaning up until their faces are mere inches from each other.

"Make me."

They kiss again.

They kiss frequently from that night on.

Whenever Xiao Xingchen isn't there, sometimes even when he is. When he sleeps. Or when he cooks and they are in the next room. Over time, kissing becomes a bit more. Touching above their clothes first, underneath their clothes later. Exploring with eyes, fingers, and tongues. It becomes all the things Xue Yang thinks of when he looks at Xiao Xingchen—and Song Lan.

It's a little secret, something only they share.

They keep it for the whole winter, carrying it into spring when the days are getting warmer but the nights are still freezing. So cold that the three of them huddle up together in the bedroom of their little broken home, as close to the fire as possible.

One night, when they are tangled up like that, Xiao Xingchen asks, "Why won't you tell me?"

He sounds sad.

Song Lan sits up, frowning. Xue Yang stops pretending to be asleep.

"I know what you are… doing. Together," Xiao Xingchen says, keeping his back turned towards them. "Why won't you tell me? Do you think I would… scold you?"

Xue Yang tries to speak, to say something, but words won't come. He glances at Song Lan, his dark eyes like beads in the dim light, not knowing what to do. He looks lost, gingerly leaning over Xue Yang, reaching out for Xiao Xingchen.

"I wouldn't," Xiao Xingchen says, and Song Lan freezes with his hand only inches away from him. "I'm happy for you."

The small stumble in his voice is like a knife to Xue Yang's heart. Song Lan lets his hand fall back, looking worse than he ever had after any beating. They go back to sleep, Xiao Xingchen with his back to them, his breath trembling traitorously.

When morning comes, they don't tell him about the faint stains of red on his cheeks.

The following weeks are awkward.

Xiao Xingchen is quiet; he sleeps with his back to them, keeping to himself. Xue Yang tries to talk to him several times, but everything that stumbles out of his mouth is flat and meaningless, so he stops. He tries to kiss Song Lan like he has become used to doing, but Song Lan pushes him away each time. No talking, no kissing, no nothing. Just eerie silence hanging between them like dark sheets of rain.

It makes Xue Yang angry, and he spends these days away from their home, returning only once the sky is dark and the city empty. When he returns on a particularly warm summer night, Xiao Xingchen's frantic voice greets him as he climbs across the wall into the courtyard.

"Zichen?! Is that you?" he calls, navigating the courtyard without his cane effortlessly. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

His hands land on Xue Yang and he stops himself. He knows them so well, can tell them apart by just a touch, just the sound of their steps sometimes. Xue Yang expects Xiao Xingchen to push him away, but he squeezes his shoulders and pulls him into an embrace.

"He's gone," he murmurs against Xue Yang's ear, panic wedged in between every syllable. "We argued, and I— I drove him off, A-Yang, I—"

"Bullshit," Xue Yang snaps, returning the hug.

He buries his nose in Xiao Xingchen's hair and tries not to think about how much he has missed his little touches, how much he would miss him if he ever left. Just like Song Lan. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't leave. Neither of them could. They are drawn to Xiao Xingchen like moths to a flame.

"Stubborn idiot has probably just gone for a walk to cool off," Xue Yang pats Xiao Xingchen's shoulder almost mockingly, taking a step back. Xiao Xingchen doesn't let him, and that makes his stomach feel funny, somehow. Different from when Song Lan grins at him and still so very much the same.

"It was bad. I wanted to know— I said—" Xiao Xingchen bites his lip.

Xue Yang raises an eyebrow and laughs. He sounds jagged and forced. "What? Did you swear?" he mocks. "I'm so proud of you, gege."

"I said horrible things." Xiao Xingchen's fingers dig deeper into Xue Yang's shoulder.

"Fine, fine," he scoffs, but there is no real sharpness to it. "I'll go find him."

And Xue Yang does. But sometimes, he almost wishes he hadn't.

It's the smell that draws him to the back alley of the run-down brothel first, the familiar scent of iron and sweat and alcohol, hoping to come across a drunk patron who got kicked out of an establishment and is now sleeping it off on the streets. Easy money for a pickpocket.

Instead, he finds Song Lan cowering in the dirt next to the dead body of a man impaled on his own sword. Xue Yang recognises the crest on the back of his robes, even with all the crimson blooming around it: A Chang cultivator.

"Zichen!"

Song Lan flinches, turning to him with wide eyes, his hands held in front of his mouth in shock. Blood is smeared all over him, his face, his clothes, his fingers. Xue Yang swallows and drops to his knees, patting him down to look for injuries.

"What happened?"

Song Lan shakes his head, leaning away from Xue Yang's questing fingers.

"Tell me!" he snaps, grabbing Song Lan by the wrists, pulling his hands away.

A horrible broken noise follows, one that doesn't sound like Song Lan at all, and then a gust of blood rushes down his chin, the gooey cascade of crimson and spittle spraying onto Xue Yang. He gives a scared squeak, losing his balance and tumbling backwards. His hands hurt when they scrape against raw stone, catching his fall, and then his fingers brush against something mushy and small.

Every fibre of his body is telling him not to, but Xue Yang can't help and turns his head, looking at what he has found in the dirt. It's red and still warm, a piece of meat lying in a tiny puddle of blood. Xue Yang's eyes dart back to Song Lan and he screams.

It's his tongue.

They make it back home somehow.

Xue Yang is lucky Song Lan remains conscious for long enough to make it over the wall by himself, collapsing straight into Xiao Xingchen's waiting arms. He falls unconscious shortly afterwards, and by the time Xue Yang instructs Xiao Xingchen to hold him down, heating the tip of the stolen sword in the fire, he is grateful for it.

Song Lan remains in a delirious state of unconsciousness for days. They take care of him, stealing food and herbs which they chew into a smooth paste, feeding it to Song Lan mouth to mouth. At night, they both hold him close, as if they could shield him from the fever and the sickness that shakes his body.

The seventh night is the worst. Song Lan lies quiet for the first time, breath so shallow you can barely see or hear it. They don't sleep the entire night, scared he might die without them even noticing. Xiao Xingchen keeps threading his fingers through Song Lan's hair in a gentle rhythm where his head rests in his lap, and Xue Yang sits next to him, holding one of Song Lan's hands while he reads from the last scroll he stole for them.

When the first streaks of pallid sunlight make their way through the cracks in the roof, a hand shakes Xue Yang awake. He swats it away at first, but then he blinks and sees Song Lan kneeling in front of him, face pale, but looking a lot less like he is about to die, and his throat goes tight. His eyes dart to Xiao Xingchen, who fumbles his way forward with clammy hands until he finds Xue Yang's knee, breath leaving him in a nervous sigh.

"Zichen—"

His words get cut off when Xue Yang drags him forward, forcing the three of them into a tight hug. He tries to hide his face against Song Lan's shoulder, praying nobody notices the occasional tear escaping his eyes, his heart rabbiting in his chest. They hold each until the light has almost turned golden.

Xiao Xingchen breaks the silence with a tearful voice, mixing apologies with questions about how Song Lan is feeling and whether he wants water, whether he is cold, only to throw himself into a frenzy when he realises that even if Song Lan told him, gave him a sign, he wouldn't know, would he? Xiao Xingchen gives a pained laugh, pulling away from the arms holding him, his voice cracking when he speaks.

"I should go— The fire needs— Excuse me—"

Song Lan grabs him by the wrist, holding him back.

"Shut up," Xue Yang snaps.

He reaches out to uncurl Xiao Xingchen's trembling fingers, bearing his palm to Song Lan, who uses his fingers to trace words against the pale skin. From where he sits, Xue Yang can see every stroke.

I'm sorry. It wasn't your fault.

Crimson droplets stain Xiao Xingchen's clothes as he bursts into tears. He squeezes Song Lan's hand with both of his, his knuckles turning white. A strange feeling flutters in Xue Yang's chest at the sight and he leans forward, brushing some of the tears away with the edge of his sleeve.

"Stop crying, you fool," he admonishes, earning himself a stern look from Song Lan.

Xiao Xingchen shivers, catching Xue Yang's fingers with his other hand, holding both of them in his lap.

"I just… That night, I thought… You two didn't need me anymore," he chokes out, his lips curling into a shaky smile. "Foolish indeed."

He gives a teary laugh before Song Lan pulls him back into an embrace, tracing the same word into his palm again and again, smearing some of the bloody tears against his skin. Xue Yang watches before he wraps his arms around both of them, whispering into Xiao Xingchen's ear.

"Never."

The days after, the hand washing starts.

"Why are you doing this?" Xue Yang asks Song Lan when they are sitting in the courtyard the next day, spreading their damp clothes out in the sun to dry.

Song Lan raises an eyebrow, tilting his head in confusion. Xue Yang rolls his eyes and offers his hand, but Song Lan swats it away, shaking his head. He gestures instead, the skin of his fingers red and raw from the continued scrubbing. Xue Yang narrows his eyes.

"No… pointing? No. …no touching!"

Song Lan nods.

"Fine," Xue Yang shrugs. "Why the hand washing, though?"

Song Lan looks dismayed, as if he didn't like where this conversation was going. He points at things, making signs. When Xue Yang keeps guessing wrong, Song Lan growls and motions for him to hold out his hand, tracing his finger against his palm.

Filthy.

"Filthy? Filthy how?" Xue Yang snorts. "Are you stupid?"

Touch. Blood. Death. Everything.

Xue Yang frowns, trying to make sense of the words.

"That bastard cut out your tongue," he huffs. "I would have gutted him too if he had come at me."

He curls his hand into a fist, anger boiling in his belly. He would have done something so much worse to that man. "The Changs are the filthy ones. Fuck them." He takes a deep breath. "You are not filthy."

Song Lan's face does something complicated. Not quite a smile, not quite agreement either.

"What? Don't believe me?" Xue Yang snorts. "Here, I'll show you."

He leans over, tugging Song Lan closer for a kiss. One of the wet ones, with parted lips and a bit of biting. When a pair of hands push him back by the shoulders, his eyes flutter open to find Song Lan repeating the gesture from before, just slightly differently.

"No kissing?" Xue Yang glares at him. "What the fuck? What's that for now?"

Song Lan shakes his head vehemently, one finger tapping against his own lips, but then his hands still. He looks around their home, mind running, only to reach for Xue Yang's palm once more.

Disgusting.

He shoots Song Lan a confused look. He makes a frustrated noise low in his throat and tugs at Xue Yang's other hand, the left one. There he writes Broken, his fingers brushing against the stump where his pinkie used to be. With his other hand, Song Lan taps against his own lips.

Xue Yang stares at him for a few heartbeats, the feeling that has never left him since the day Song Lan woke again burning in his chest. He swallows, finding his voice is doing the annoying thing where it breaks and he can't do anything about it. He almost envies Song Lan for not having to deal with this anymore.

"It never bothered you with either of us," Xue Yang says, intertwining their fingers. Four broken with five filthy ones. "So why would it bother us?" He looks up at Song Lan. "I don't care. Xingchen won't either."

Song Lan stares back, almost as if he were scared Xue Yang was going to disappear right in front of his eyes. He squeezes Xue Yang's hand, rubbing his thumb over the scars in his palm.

The shuffling sound of steps breaks the silence, accompanied by a rattling noise when a stick of bamboo is thrown over the wall. Xiao Xingchen follows behind, making the climb as smoothly as if he could see.

"We're both here," Xue Yang informs him.

Xiao Xingchen looks on edge, hastily stumbling towards them, face flushed.

"The Changs," he is breathless. "They're combing the city."

Song Lan and Xue Yang exchange an alerted look.

"They want the person responsible for killing one of their men. They're looking for us!"

The good thing about living on the street is that there is never much to pack.

Before an incense stick has burned down, the three of them are ready to leave the city. Once past the gates, they run as fast as they can, keeping Xiao Xingchen in their middle, and leave the road as soon as the opportunity presents itself.

The forest is a strange place.

There is nothing to steal in the wild, only scared animals that flee from the three running boys while plants and bushes scrape their legs and arms. It is Xiao Xingchen who picks up on the distant rushing of water first, leading them towards it. By the time night falls, they have followed it to a small lake, finding shelter beneath a crag for the night.

They make a small fire and eat whatever meagre supplies they have taken with them, glad that it is summer and their thin blanket will do for the night. It's the first night they spend under the open sky in three years.

"We've grown old and fat," Xue Yang snaps, nibbling on some berries.

Xiao Xingchen laughs, spreading out the blankets around the fire with Song Lan.

"Only old, I'm afraid," his smile flickers. "They won't come after us here, will they?"

None of them dares answer that question.

They huddle up like they are used to doing, Xue Yang in their middle, making himself small so the other two can fit beneath the blanket with him. But sleep does not come that night. When the fire has almost died down, Song Lan reaches across Xue Yang, searching for Xiao Xingchen's hand. He writes something into his palm, causing him to turn around and face them.

"I am scared," Xiao Xingchen whispers. "What if they find us? Separate us?"

"They won't," Xue Yang hisses, fumbling for Xiao Xingchen's hand in the dark. "They can't."

He finds it, still held in Song Lan's grasp, and somehow wedges his own fingers in between in a way that fits all three of them. Xiao Xingchen hums, scooting closer until his chin rests against Xue Yang's temple, and Song Lan has his arm slung over them both. Xiao Xingchen speaks again, the words barely more than a whisper.

"I'm sorry," he turns his head towards Song Lan. "We wouldn't be here if I hadn't— if it weren't for me."

Song Lan makes a guttural sound the same moment Xue Yang growls, "Gege, if you don't stop blaming yourself for that stupid spat, I'm going to punch you."

Xiao Xingchen gives a wavering chuckle. "Ah. All right." The low light makes him look sad, orange shadows playing over his face. He bites his lip, fingers trembling around Xue Yang's and Song Lan's hands. "That day. I just. I wanted to know. Why the two of you won't… With me, I mean— How does it feel when—" 

Xue Yang can't stand it anymore and tilts his head, shutting him up with a kiss. Xiao Xingchen makes a surprised noise in his throat, but then he lets it happen, turning pliant under Xue Yang's touch. 

"There, that's how it feels," Xue Yang says when he pulls back, noticing Song Lan's hand tightening around his fingers. He swallows. "Zichen does it better, though." It hurts a bit to admit that, but between the two of them, it's probably true. "And he's been wanting to kiss you for a while now, too."

Song Lan kicks him in the shin at that, and Xue Yang just kicks back, neither of them noticing how Xiao Xingchen sits up, raising his brows.

"Zichen?" He reaches for Song Lan, dirty sleeves brushing over Xue Yang's arm. 

Song Lan looks embarrassed, nervous in a way Xue Yang has never seen him. But he leans forward, meeting Xiao Xingchen's lips bravely, a soft sigh falling from his mouth. Xue Yang watches as they kiss above him, his chest burning with pride and anger at the same time, and something different he can't find a word for. When Xiao Xingchen pulls back, a light flush clings to his cheek, looking more alive and beautiful than ever.

"There," Xue Yang huffs, his throat growing tight. "Happy now, silly gege?"

"Yes," Xiao Xingchen whispers, a smile curling around his pink lips.

Then, something moves inside the forest.

The boys scatter, looking around frantically. Song Lan is the fastest on his feet, reaching for the stolen sword lying by the fire. Xue Yang jumps to his side, eyes flitting from one bush to the next, trying to find the source of the rustling around them. Trees sway in the nightly breeze, the fire making the shadows of the branches dance around them.

"Come out!" he shouts, scanning their surroundings. "We're not scared of you!"

It's a lie, of course. Xue Yang's heart is beating in his throat like a panicked bird in its cage, blood rushing in his ears. But Song Lan's knuckles turning white around the hilt of the sword and Xiao Xingchen scrambling to get to their side are two very good reasons to feign being brave, even when his voice cracks. "Show yourself, bastard!"

The high grass to their right shakes and rustles, something moving inside of it. Song Lan takes a step forward, the arm holding the sword raised in front of them as a shadow emerges from the undergrowth. Dark eyes stare at them, reflecting the orange glow of the firelight.

"What is it?" Xiao Xingchen whispers, hand wrapped around Xue Yang's elbow like a vice.

The eyes sit in a triangular face, surrounded by rusty fur. A tiny fox stares at the boys, as if it were confused by what three such strange creatures were doing at night inside the forest. Then it jumps and turns around with an odd squeak, bushy tail trembling as it rushes back the way it came, fleeing into the darkness. Xue Yang stares after it, his breath leaving him in an explosive exhale.

"A-Yang," Xiao Xingchen's fingers dig into his arm. "What is it?"

"A fox," Xue Yang snorts, running a hand through his hair. He stumbles backwards when his legs grow weak, Song Lan catching him by the arm, helping him kneel down. Laughter bubbles up in his throat. He can't hold it back, no matter how hard he tries. "A fucking fox!"

To his side, Xiao Xingchen chuckles, sounding just as breathless, and even Song Lan looks more relieved than embarrassed at their nightly visitor. Xue Yang's trembling fingers find a pebble, throwing it into the high grass. It lands with a dull noise.

"Look at us," he huffs, heart still rabbiting in his chest. "We're so stupid!"

Song Lan gives a hum at that, his hand finding Xue Yang's and squeezing it tightly. His fingers are warm.

"Yes," Xiao Xingchen agrees, taking Xue Yang's other hand.

And then he leans down and starts kissing Xue Yang again, soft and gentle and reassuring, sucking all the tension from his body with a clumsy tongue, nervous laughter ringing between them whenever they break apart. Xue Yang dives after Xiao Xingchen, chasing the taste of his lips. He pushes the robes from Xiao Xingchen's shoulders and pulls him down onto their blanket, Xiao Xingchen's touches disentangling the knots that have been building up inside Xue Yang's chest until the only thing left is a comfortable warmth that threatens to spill over.

When the warm sensation becomes too overbearing, Xue Yang tears away with a gasp, reaching for Song Lan and pours it into him instead. He accepts it gracefully, a welcoming vessel for all the anger and fear and want Xue Yang feeds him. Song Lan turns it into something safe and comfortable that feels like home, holding first Xue Yang, then Xiao Xingchen close as they fall over each other in a desperate attempt at making their bodies match the frantic pace at which their hearts are beating.

They are good like that. The three of them.

They are right. 

Later, they lie entangled, skin on skin, with only the forest surrounding them, filling the quiet with the sounds of lapping water and wind rustling in the trees.

A hand strokes over Xue Yang's hair—he doesn't know who it belongs to—and he stares up into the canopy of leaves, the occasional star blinking through the foliage. Xiao Xingchen's head rests against his chest. Having him so close when the stars are still so far makes Xue Yang think angry thoughts. About the stars, and the thrill of stealing a silken scarf, about the scent of soap on Song Lan's hands, and a promise of candy that was broken many years ago.

"I'm going to kill them," he says, his voice cutting through the silence. "The Changs. Every last one of them."

Xiao Xingchen chuckles. Xue Yang feels the vibrations of his throat against his chest. "You can't, A-Yang."

Xue Yang still looks into what little he can see of the sky. "…not yet."

There are more cities with temples and libraries in this world. More things to be learned. People willing to teach. People that can be made willing to teach them. As long as it's the three of them against the world, this world has nothing that will save it.

"But one day, I will."

The hand that is stroking his head pulls back, running over his shoulder down to where Xue Yang's fingers toy with the frayed ends of Xiao Xingchen's blindfold. A thumb brushes over the four fingers and the scars where the fifth once was.

We.

Xue Yang finds Song Lan's eyes in the dark, nodding at each other. Between them, Xiao Xingchen gives a small yawn, stealing Song Lan's hand away to intertwine their fingers. "One day then, my heart," he says sleepily, raising his head to press a kiss against the back of Song Lan's hand, and then a second one against Xue Yang's throat, "My love."

The feeling that has been sitting in Xue Yang's chest for months preens at these words, growing until it reaches from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes. It might be love. Or it might be vengeance. Maybe it is both. He smiles at the sky.

"One day, they will burn."

And burn they do.

The hands covering Xue Yang's eyes smell faintly of soap, even with the scent of blood and smoke thick in the air. He smirks, leaning his head back until it rests against a bony shoulder. "Zichen," he guesses.

It's not really a guess, not when the options for the answer are so limited. Song Lan hums, dropping his hands. Xue Yang blinks, looking at the flames surrounding them, the gravel running red with blood, and Xiao Xingchen standing in the middle of this chaos, a pillar of white.

"Well done," he praises, crossing the distance between them with floating steps. "Come, love. We have a gift for you."

His hands trail along Xue Yang's elbow down to the snug black glove, tugging him along. He has abandoned the bamboo stick in favour of a sword years ago, claiming that Shuanghua is enough to guide him when the other two aren't around. But now the sword is sheathed, and Xiao Xingchen keeps his hands on Xue Yang and Song Lan constantly, his touches feather-light, his fingers never resting.

Song Lan never touches anything, anyone. Not unless he has to. Not unless it's them.

He uses his hands to speak and to write in Xiao Xingchen's palm, his fingers always red and raw, calloused from wielding Fuxue. He says his hands are dirty, not fit to touch them. But they are everything he has, and so he touches them anyway, works his fingers between them like tools because Xiao Xingchen and Xue Yang are worth getting filthy.

Just like he is now, grabbing the man that lies cowering in the middle of the courtyard, hauling him up by the ropes around his arms. Their captive winces in pain, and Xiao Xingchen giggles like a child, leaning his head against Xue Yang's shoulder, fingers dancing against his left hand. "It's just for you. Do you like it, A-Yang?"

Xiao Xingchen is so close, his voice is like a melody, and all Xue Yang wants to do is kiss him. So he does. Song Lan watches them with a serious face, but the corner of his mouth twitches a little. As if he were biting back a smile. Xue Yang will kiss him later too.

He looks down at the man kneeling in front of him, held firmly by Song Lan. A wrinkled face with fear etched deeply into every feature and thin lips trembling around a dirty gag. The sight makes Xue Yang feel bubbly, excited, like he is fourteen again and stealing away with Song Lan to practise kissing while Xiao Xingchen cooks in the next room.

"Yes, gege," he breathes against the shell of Xiao Xingchen's ear. "I like it a lot."

Xiao Xingchen gives a careless laugh. Like they weren't standing in a burning mansion surrounded by piles of dead bodies. "Good. Very good."

He floats over to where Song Lan is standing, giving him the same fleeting touches and fond smile. Xiao Xingchen melts against him like water, fitting into all the curves and crooks of his body. "You can do whatever you want. He's all yours, love."

Song Lan nods, leaning against Xiao Xingchen. His hands never let go of their prisoner, keeping him displayed, bruised face, bloodied robes, and the familiar crest on his chest. A grin splits Xue Yang's face. No, he thinks. This is for all of us.

He steps closer, grabbing the man by the jaw and forces him to look at him, enjoying the fear lighting up his eyes. Xue Yang raises his left hand, tearing the glove away with his teeth and reveals the scarred stump. "Do you remember me, old man?"

Chang Ci'an nods. Frantically, like a child. Pathetic.

"Good," Xue Yang leans in, their noses almost brushing against each other. "Then you know what you owe us."

The nodding turns into panicked head shaking, the rope creaking as Chang Ci'an struggles against his bonds. Song Lan gives a dangerous growl, pulling on the restraints. Xiao Xingchen laughs, bringing his boot down on their captive's ankle with a terrible cracking sound, the man howling like a wild dog before he goes still again. Tears of pain well up in his eyes, and the sight makes Xue Yang's fond smile turn into a dangerous grin, showing off his pointy canines.

"I'll remind you then, Chang Ci'an," he holds up his hand, uncurling each of his four fingers as he speaks. "A finger. A tongue. Two eyes. A house."

Three lives and then some.

"I'd say we're even concerning the house," Xue Yang pretends to look around thoughtfully, gazing at the flames. "A home for a home. As for the rest…"

He looks up at Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen holding Chang Ci'an down, both of them scarred and beautiful, both of them alive, both of them his, and he thinks his heart is going to burst.

"With what should we start?"

Song Lan merely shrugs. Xiao Xingchen tilts his head, his fingers dancing up and down on Song Lan's arm, lost in a rhythmless dance of their own. Then he turns to Xue Yang, a mirthless smile on his face. "The tongue," he says, closing his hand over Song Lan's around the rope. "Let's start with the tongue."

Xue Yang grins, eyes resting on Song Lan for a long moment before he turns back to a struggling Chang Ci'an, grabbing him by the chin. Jiangzai leaves her sheath with a quiet noise.

"Yes, gege," he nods. "The tongue."

The fires have died down. Black has faded to blue, bleeding into a bright pink as the first rays of the sun creep across the horizon.

"Where to now?" Xiao Xingchen asks, leaning his head against Xue Yang's shoulder.

They stand beneath the gates of a burned mansion, the path ahead winding towards an unknown future. Song Lan raises his hands, making a gesture Xue Yang hasn't seen from him in years. Into the palm of Xiao Xingchen, he writes Home.

Xiao Xingchen tilts his head. "And where would that be?"

Xue Yang looks up at the sky, watching as the last stars flee a new day. He shrugs. "Anywhere," he says, taking the first step away from the smouldering ruin. "Come on."

Two familiar sets of steps follow him, one heavy and measured, the other light and airy. Golden rays of light paint the world in pink and orange.

Home is not a place. Home is Xiao Xingchen's blind smile and Song Lan's voiceless promises. It doesn't matter where they go.

What matters is that they walk together.