Archive of Our Own

1. pranking a friend

The best part about being a chef, for Xiangling, is watching people eat. 

But not in a creepy way or anything! She certainly doesn’t stare at her customers as they try to enjoy their meal. No, what she means by that is more along the lines of … seeing their eyes light up when the carefully crafted dish is set before them. Hearing their hums of delight as they taste the symphony of flavors. Sensing their pleasure as they scrape the plate clean. Because however satisfying it is to make and perfect a dish, the true reward is the satisfaction the meal gives others.  

After years of watching people eat (okay, maybe she needs a better way to word it), Xiangling has learned to observe more than just her diners’ culinary delight. She knows the different mannerisms people have —where they put their napkins, how they hold their chopsticks, even how they sit at the table. She can list which people prefer to drink their tea piping hot, which wait to save their tongues, and which forgo tea altogether. And she can tell you exactly where all her regulars like to sit—the aunts at the window to gossip, the elderly towards the back for quiet, and her friends, who crowd on the barstools to talk to her as she works. Out of everyone, of course she enjoys their company the most.  

Today, a warm and breezy spring day, Xingqiu and Chongyun stop by for a late lunch. They give their greetings as they take their usual seats at the counter, Xingqiu sitting on Chongyun’s right. 

Wait, that’s odd, Xiangling thinks as she starts on their orders—mountain noodles for Chongyun, crystal shrimp for Xingqiu. Normally, from her perspective, Xinyan sits on the left end, then Yun Jin, then Chongyun in the middle, then Xingqiu on his left, then Hu Tao on the right end. This arrangement is optimal in many ways. Xinyan and Yun Jin can easily chat, and Xinyan’s voice is loud enough to carry down to the other end if she wants to talk to the others. Yun Jin is mellow enough for Chongyun’s introverted soul to handle, and of course, he could never be separated from Xingqiu. In his spot, Xingqiu is between two of his closest friends, but there’s another reason—so he can surreptitiously slip chilis into Chongyun’s food. 

Maybe he’s not feeling like a prankster today, Xiangling thinks as she places the shrimp dumplings in the steamer. But when she glances back at Xingqiu, he flashes her the signal—one for a side of chilis. No, he’s definitely feeling like a prankster today. She nods, though she’s not sure how he’s going to pull it off. He’ll have to reach over to hide the chilis in the noodles, and that’s certainly not going to escape Chongyun’s notice. 

“Order up!” she chirps a few minutes later, setting their food in front of them. Xingqiu pulls the dumpling steamer towards him. After he checks for the small dish of chilis hidden underneath, he taps his finger thrice against the counter, signaling Xiangling to begin a distraction. Chongyun, oblivious to it all, picks up his chopsticks and eagerly starts on his noodles. 

“So, Chongyun, have you found any ghosts lately?” Xiangling asks, leaning against the counter. He has to chew for a few moments, but with his attention focused on her, Xingqiu starts to make his move. 

“Oh, take your time!” Xiangling says, feigning embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to talk to you when you were eating. Bad habit!” 

Chongyun finally swallows. “No no, it’s fine. Your food is delicious as always.” 

“Aw, you flatter me,” Xiangling teases. At this point, Xingqiu has a few chilis in his chopsticks and is slowly moving them towards Chongyun’s plate. 

Wait a second. Did he just switch hands? Since when was he left-handed?  

“To answer your question,” Chongyun starts; she quickly schools her expression. “I actually did find a ghost yesterday!” 

“Oh, really?” Xiangling leans closer, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Where was it? Who was it? Did you exorcize it?” With Chongyun’s attention on her, he doesn’t even notice the prankster next to him tucking bright red peppers into pale noodles. Xiangling silently marvels at how Xingqiu can keep his left hand so steady. Did he train it especially for this purpose? 

“The Bishui Plains, a man who was a soldier, and …” Chongyun’s shoulders slump. “No. I couldn’t exorcize him.” He sighs. “They always disappear before I can get close enough.”

“But you saw him, right? That means you’re improving!” Xiangling says as Xingqiu withdraws his chopsticks. The chilis have been successfully planted among the folds of noodles and sauce. She spies him switching the utensils to his right hand before picking up a crystal shrimp. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get them one day,” he says, nudging Chongyun’s shoulder. “Seeing ghosts is already better than before, right?” 

“You’re right.” Chongyun nods. “Thanks, you guys.” He smiles at them, then picks up a bite of food. Xiangling can see a chili poking out from within the noodles and sauce. Still, poor Chongyun is none the wiser as he slurps up the mouthful and hums in content. 

It always takes a few seconds. First, he stops chewing when he notices the texture isn’t quite right. Next, his eyes widen in horror when the spiciness starts to kick in. Then, he glares at Xingqiu as he tries to force himself to swallow—even he can’t bring himself to spit out Xiangling’s food. Finally, when the damage is done, the Chongyun who sat down to enjoy a meal is not the same one who sprints out of the restaurant high on his yang energy. 

“Ah, I’d better go after him.” Xingqiu drops a few Mora on the counter and flashes Xiangling a wicked smile. “Thanks again, my partner in crime.” 

“Come back soon!” Xiangling watches them go, a fond smile on her face. “Honestly, learning to use his other hand just to put a few chilis in Chongyun’s food?” She shakes her head as she clears away their dishes. “The lengths he’ll go to mess with him …”

2. sparring

The best part about Dragonspine, to Albedo, is the quiet.

His cave is a lucky find, really. Close enough to the worn path, deep enough to block the wind, spacious enough to hold all his equipment. And most importantly, rarely anybody bothers him here. Don’t misunderstand—he loves Klee, enjoys mentoring Sucrose and Timaeus, and appreciates his job with the Knights. But sometimes, he just needs to get away. Dragonspine is peaceful and quiet, only the hum of whirling wind and chattering snowflakes in the background. 

It’s all peaceful and quiet, of course, until Xingqiu comes over. 

“Mr. Kriedeprinz!” He always arrives in a whirl of scarves and gloves, face rosy red as he bursts through the cave entrance. “I’m here! I’ve finally finished the manuscript!” 

He thrusts a stack of papers under Albedo’s nose and beams. 

“Xingqiu.” The alchemist takes the papers. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You as well!” Xingqiu has already abandoned the conversation in favor of peering at the alchemy equipment scattered around. Albedo watches him, a half smile on his face. Because as much as the cave on Dragonspine is his safe space, it’s also Xingqiu’s. Here, he doesn’t have to be the second heir of the Feiyun Commerce Guild, brilliant and willful and sharp-tongued. Here, he’s just Zhenyu, a budding author with a penchant for the wild and unpredictable. Albedo is the only one who gets to witness this side of him. 

“I’ll start sketching ideas,” Albedo says, retreating to his desk. “And don’t touch anything.” Out of the corner of his eye, he spies Xingqiu retract his hand from a beaker swirling with lilac liquid. He turns away to study Albedo’s bookshelves instead, crammed with alchemy tomes and the occasional children’s book. 

The next hour passes comfortably. Albedo sits at his desk and flips through the manuscript, occasionally jotting down ideas for illustrations. He already has the perfect image in mind for the cover: the main heroine posing amidst a backdrop of stars, her face set with determination. Behind her, the—

“Albedooooo—” His pencil skids along the paper. A quick glance over at Xingqiu shows him collapsed in a pile of flour sacks and staring up at the cave ceiling. “I’m boooored.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Xingqiu,” Albedo replies politely, flipping the pencil over to erase the stray mark. “But I’m afraid I don’t have much here to amuse yourself with. An alchemist’s lab is no place for playing.” Precisely why he doesn’t like having Klee over—like Xingqiu, she bores easily and often resorts to poking around his potentially dangerous equipment. 

“I’m not a child. I don’t need to play.” Xingqiu scrunches his nose, then sits up. “I know! Why don’t we spar?” 

The pencil lead splinters. Albedo blinks. “... Spar?” 

“You know, sword-fighting?” Xingqiu summons his sword in a shimmer of gold and holds it out, fire light flickering off the sleek surface. “Even as Chief Alchemist, you need to keep your fighting abilities in shape, yes?” 

“... I suppose so.” Albedo sets down his clipboard and pencil. His joints are feeling stiff —a little exercise would do well for him. “What exactly did you have in mind?” 

Xingqiu grins, a gleam to his golden eyes. “Just until whoever yields first. And no Visions.” 

They place their Visions on Albedo’s desk, a diamond of deep blue and a droplet of golden yellow. While Albedo’s Vision is noticeably unadorned, simply a tool tucked away in his clothing, Xingqiu’s dangles from a shining keychain of amber and gold. 

“Who crafted this?” Albedo wonders. He touches the amber stone beneath the Hydro Vision. Its cut feels rough, like it was carved by someone with little experience. 

“It was a gift,” Xingqiu replies from a few feet away, where he makes a few experimental swishes with his sword. Every move he makes is as elegant and refined as he is. “I’ve told you about Chongyun before, haven’t I?”

Albedo summons his own sword. “Yes, you’ve mentioned him on occasion.” And on every occasion, Xingqiu had a faraway look in his eyes, a dreamy smile on his face, and his voice grew impossibly fond. It was sweet, honestly. “The exorcist, isn’t he?”

“Yes.” There, it was even happening now. “It was from him. I gave him one for his Vision as well.” 

Albedo hides his smile. “So you two match?”

“Ah—I—something like that.” Xingqiu scans the cave, obviously trying to deflect. “So, do you think we have enough room for sparring?” 

Albedo lets it go, for now. He looks around the cave—his idea board and alchemy table are close to the wall, as are his cabinets and bookshelves. Only a few crates of vegetables are considerable obstructions, which they set to work moving aside. 

“We still have to be careful,” he tells Xingqiu as he nudges a crate with two wilting cabbages. “Stay away from the equipment. Last time Klee didn’t look where she was going, she spilled some chemicals that melted right through the table.”

Xingqiu shudders. And could have melted through her, is the implication. “Yes, Chief Alchemist. Don’t go near the strangely colored liquids.” 

“They’re only strangely colored because of their properties,” Albedo tries to explain, but Xingqiu isn’t listening anymore. His eyes are focused as he takes a stance across from Albedo, sword at the ready. 

“First one to yield,” he says again. Albedo nods and lifts his sword. 

“Ready when you are.” 

Xingqiu holds his gaze for a second. Then, taking one step forward, the fight begins. 

In all honesty, Albedo would be perfectly content to never pick up a sword again in his life. He isn’t like Klee with her bombs, Amber with her deadly accuracy, Eula with her whirling frost. When he’s traveling in the wild with the threat of hilichurls and Abyss mages and slimes, his first instinct when he sees them isn’t usually to attack. He’ll try to avoid them, keep his head down, leave them alone. Still, when things do go south, self-defense isn’t a bad skill to have. Not to mention he is a member of the Knights of Favonious. 

Xingqiu, however, obviously loves sword-fighting. He’s regaled Albedo with the tales of when he first held a sword, how he revived the Guhua technique, even how he inspired others to pick up the blade as he had. Even now, Albedo can see it on his face—how he relishes every strike and stroke, every clang of their blades, every gritting of teeth and tightening of knuckles. Albedo learned sword-fighting out of necessity; Xingqiu learned it out of passion. 

It’s no surprise when Albedo finds himself cornered a few minutes later, a bookshelf at his back and the alchemy table to his right. He really does rely too much on his Vision, he thinks. Judging by the gleam in his eyes, Xingqiu knows he’s about to win too. He raises his sword, likely going for a disarming move, when Albedo suddenly sees his chance. 

“Don’t hit the table!” he shouts. 

Xingqiu falters, his arm stopping mid-stroke. Albedo’s sword shoots out in an attempt to disarm, but his adversary’s blade vanishes from its original position. In a split second, Xingqiu’s sword has hopped from one hand to the other before slashing down. The Cinnabar Spindle twists out of Albedo’s hand and clatters to the floor. 

Xingqiu grins, triumphant. “Do you yield?” 

“How did you do that?” Albedo says instead, gaze fixed on the sword now in Xingqiu’s opposite hand. It happened so fast, he was sure he imagined it. 

Xingqiu looks perplexed. “Do what?” 

“Switch sword hands in the middle of the fight. It was—” Unexpected. Ingenious. Incredible. Albedo keeps staring. 

“Oh, that?” Xingqiu says slowly. “It happens, sometimes. I switched to avoid hitting the alchemy table.” 

“And your left hand is just as capable of fighting as with your right?” On instinct, Albedo reaches out and grasps Xingqiu’s hand. The sword vanishes with a spritz of gold as he scrutinizes the fingers, the palm, the veins—

“Ah … Mr. Kriedeprinz?” Xingqiu says after a few moments have passed. 

“Yes?” Albedo hums. 

“You still haven’t said that you yield.”

“Oh. Oh, yes, I yield. Now let me see this here—”

“Albedo—” 

“Yes?”

“If you really want to know, we can always spar again. I’ll use my left hand this time.”

Albedo looks up. He was thinking more along the lines of a dissection, but that … likely wasn’t the most appropriate approach. He nods. “That would be a fitting experiment.”

When Xingqiu leaves a few hours later, Albedo pores over the empirical evidence. Out of the four sparring matches they held, two right-handed and two left-handed, Xingqiu bested him in all of them. It really does appear that he is able to swordfight with either hand, regardless of dominance. Fascinating. Then again, Albedo could just be that terrible at sparring, though a more apt explanation would be that Xingqiu was simply that exceptional. 

An experiment for another day, it seems, the alchemist muses as he tucks them away. For now, he has to get started on those illustrations. 

3. tossing snacks

The best part about the week, according to Hu Tao, is the weekend, of course! Specifically, Sunday at ten AM when Xingqiu shows up at her door with blank paper, his favorite pen, and a new herbal tea blend. 

“Come in, come in!” she says as he steps into her foyer and slips off his shoes. “I’ve been dying to bounce some new ideas off you!” 

“Hopefully not too much,” Xingqiu replies wryly. “You’ll just be making business for yourself.”

“Ah! I like your style.” She plucks the box of tea from his arms and skips down the hall into the kitchen. A kettle already sits on the stove. The water boils right as she finishes scooping tea into their cups—a gold-rimmed teacup for her, and a ceramic one with blue peonies for Xingqiu. She hums to herself as she goes through the motions, placing the cups and kettle and all their favorite snacks on the tray before bringing it into the study. Xingqiu is already at the desk and arranging the space how he likes it, with his ink pen on its stand, the paper stack’s edges perfectly aligned, and a dictionary on the left. 

“What’s today’s special flavor?” Hu Tao chirps as she sets the tray down. Xingqiu winces when the tea comes dangerously close to sloshing past the teacup rims. 

“Dried chrysanthemum blossoms,” he says, picking up his cup and studying the yellow flower suspended inside. 

“Seems fancy.” Hu Tao blows the hot liquid, then takes a delicate sip. “Hm, not bad.” 

Xingqiu smiles wryly. “‘Not bad’? It was only ten thousand Mora.” 

“Really?” Hu Tao almost drops her cup. 

“Possibly. I don’t know. It was a gift from one of Father’s clients.” His smile fades. “Or rather, one of his clients that he wants me to take, but I keep refusing to.” 

“That’s rough.” Hu Tao reaches over to pat his shoulder. “But they keep bringing us nice tea, so keep up the good work!”

“I’m glad it pleases you, Director.” Xingqiu takes a sip of tea. “Hm, you’re right. It really is not bad.” 

Sunday at ten-thirty AM, after the tea has been poured and pleasantries exchanged, is when the real fun begins. They have the next hour and a half for penning poetry, snacking and sipping tea, and of course, gossiping. Between Hu Tao’s funeral parlor and Xingqiu’s trade business, they have plenty of interesting stories to tell. 

“Wait, wait, slow down.” Xingqiu holds up a hand. “The husband wasn’t crying, but his brother was?” 

“Like full on sobbing. And he brought like this massive bouquet of glaze lilies that probably cost like, twenty thousand Mora. He was inconsolable.” She leans in, a sneaky smile growing on her face. “You know what this means, right?” 

“Well, I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but …” Xingqiu’s eyes gleam. “Something was certainly happening in that household.” 

“Hah! Well, nothing’s happening anymore. May she rest in peace.” Hu Tao thinks a silent prayer, then sits back with a sigh. “So, what about you? Anything happen lately?” 

“Mm …” Xingqiu twirls his pen, gaze dropping to his half-written poem. “Not really. Half my days are spent listening to Xu drone on about who knows what.”

“And the other half?”

“Sneaking out.” Xingqiu smiles. “He always threatens to tell my father what I’ve been up to, but he never does. I think he’s grown fond of me.” 

“I mean, he’s basically getting paid to let you run away. I’d love a job like that.” 

“Then I shall speak with my father about you replacing him.” 

“Aw, you want me as a negligent babysitter that badly?” 

Xingqiu shudders. “On second thought, if anyone had you as their babysitter, they wouldn’t last a day. Just look at poor Qiqi.” 

“Whaaaat? I’m not that bad.” Hu Tao sits up, prim and proper, then tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Whatever, I don’t need to babysit anyone, let alone you. I’m already the head of a distinguished business here in Liyue.” 

Xingqiu tilts his head. “But … I thought Zhongli was the head.” 

“Haha, very funny. I’m the one in charge of his salary. In fact, I could deduct from it right now!” 

“That seems cruel. He already can’t afford to treat that Snezhnayan man to lunch.” 

Hu Tao wrinkles her nose. “I know. It’s honestly kind of embarrassing. Good thing the other guy’s absolutely loaded. Speaking of …” She waggles her eyebrows. “How are things going with Chooongyun?” 

Xingqiu, with the dignity of a Liyuean noble, manages to only blush the palest silk flower pink. “Like they always do,” he says, voice remarkably even. 

“So … still pining from a distance? Pranking him as a way to flirt? Writing poetry about his cool icy blue eyes? Yeah, don’t think I can’t read upside down.” She waves a hand at his poem. Xingqiu snatches it up. After a moment of scrutinizing, he says, 

“I was writing about a waterfall.” 

“Okay, but I still made you think that you wrote about him, right?” Hu Tao beams. 

“You’re impossible.” He throws the paper at her, but it only flutters to the table. Besides, even if he was writing about a waterfall, it’s positively unreadable. 

“You love me,” she teases. “And you love—”

“Oh, no, you better not finish that sentence.” In a flash, Xingqiu grabs a nearby can of snacks and throws one of its contents at her. It bounces off her hat and lands sadly on the carpet. 

“Hah, looks like you’ve gotta work on your aim!” 

“At least I hit somewhere near your face.”

"Yes, but how could you blemish my precious hat like this?" Hu Tao pouts. 

"My apologies, Hu Tao's hat." Xingqiu bows at the waist. He looks up with a smirk. "I will try my best to hit your wearer next time."

“Wait, try it again! I’ll catch it in my mouth this time!” Hu Tao opens her mouth. Xingqiu rolls his eyes but tosses another; it arcs through the air far over her head. 

“You suck at this.” 

“You have to move to where I throw it.”

“It’s your job to throw it accurately!”

“Hey, it’s not as easy as you think.” Xingqiu slides the snack can across the table and reaches in it with his other hand. Hu Tao blinks, but he’s already holding up the next projectile. 

“Ready? Third time’s the charm.”

“Well then, hit me! In the mouth!” 

“Yes, Director Hu.” Xingqiu squints his eyes, preparing the shot, then …

A sour and salty flavor bursts on Hu Tao’s tongue. She closes her mouth in triumph. 

“Pickled plum pit,” she announces, the snack clacking against her teeth. She makes a sour face. “Ooh, my tastebuds were not prepared for that.” She leans over the table and snags the snack can. “Now it’s my turn!”

“No thank you.” Xingqiu scoots back. “You’re either going to purposefully hit me in the eye, or I’m going to choke on it.”

“Thank you for supporting my small business, Xingqiu,” Hu Tao says, dead serious, then reaches into the can anyway. “Now, open up!” 

Xingqiu, ever the friend, reluctantly does. 

(It takes far more than three times for her to make it in, but seventeenth time’s the charm, right?)

4. picking flowers

The best part about herb-picking is … 

… 

… 

What was Qiqi thinking about again? 

Right, herbs. Flowers. She needs to pick more flowers. To make medicine. To help people. That’s her job. 

“Qiqi.” She looks up into a pair of warm golden eyes. They’re familiar, but she can’t place a name to them. “Do you need any of those?” 

She follows their arm to where they are pointing—a patch of calla lilies, their heads bobbing up and down as the lake behind it ripples with the breeze. Yes, she needs those orange flowers. They make medicine taste better. She nods. 

“Great, let’s go get them then! C’mon, Chongyun!” The golden-eyed person waves at the other one with them, the boy with hair as pale blue as winter ice. 

“Did we really have to come this far?” she hears him sigh. “We’re not even in Liyue anymore.”

“Dr. Baizhu wants these flowers fresh from Mondstadt, remember? Besides—” Qiqi feels a gentle pat on her head. “We can’t let Qiqi wander off this far by herself. Not after last time.” 

Last time? If she tries hard enough, Qiqi can remember a little bit of that. She was cold and tired even though she rarely is either of those two. Someone found her, though, after a long time. They felt dark, but their arms were warm and safe. She doesn’t know who they were. She wonders if she’ll see them again. 

“Hey, want to see which one of us can pick more flowers?” the one with golden eyes says as they walk towards the flower patch. The blue-haired one—Chongyun, Qiqi thinks firmly—rolls his eyes. 

“Xingqiu, not everything’s a race.” 

“Ah, but it’s more fun that way, isn’t it?” the other boy—Xingqiu—says. After a moment, Chongyun sighs. He does a lot of sighing, Qiqi thinks. 

“Fine. But don’t damage any of the flowers.” 

Xingqiu gives a dramatic gasp, hand flying to his chest. “I would never!” 

Chongyun shakes his head, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. 

Those two are close, Qiqi knows. Even if she can’t always recall their names, she always sees them around the city together. Two kinds of blue, navy and ice, playful and serious, but always side by side. When Qiqi was alive, did she have someone like that? Someone to talk to, to laugh with, to lean on? Qiqi doesn’t know if she did. She can’t remember. 

“Qiqi?” She blinks. The kind golden eyes are there again, only this time looking at her with concern. “Are you okay?” 

Qiqi blinks again. Okay? She wasn’t okay. She was Qiqi. Just Qiqi. Just …

Xingqiu kneels before her, his golden eyes level with hers. He extends his hand to her. 

“Let’s go pick the flowers.” 

Qiqi stares at the hand, calloused from a sword and smudged with dirt. After a moment, she takes it. Her hand is small in his rough palm, but it’s warm. They walk to the patch of calla lilies. He kneels again as she sits in the sand, still clinging to his hand. 

He cocks his head at his friend, at Chongyun. “Ready to race?” 

The other boy raises a brow. “You seem … occupied.” 

Xingqiu smirks. “What, afraid I’ll still beat you with one hand?”

“No, but—”

“Ready set go!” 

Just like that, the race is on. Xingqiu reaches out and grabs a calla lily. The stem is tough, but a bit of maneuvering and it snaps. He places it in Qiqi’s basket, then reaches for another one. Somehow, even though he’s holding her hand, he manages to pick just as fast as the other boy. Although, they’re both much faster than Qiqi could ever pick. 

A few minutes later, the patch is nearly stripped clean of the blooms. They stop, knowing to always leave a few flowers for regrowth. 

They count their spoils. “One, two, three … okay, I’ve got eight,” Chongyun says. “What about you?” 

“I have seven.” Xingqiu lost, but he still grins at his friend. “Good game. But I’ll win next time, for sure!” 

“We’ll see about that,” Chongyun says dryly. “Also, we should really bring a knife next time—those stems are tough.” His gaze falls to their hands. “Hang on, did you really hold Qiqi’s hand the entire time?”

“Yes? I wasn’t about to let go. That would be cruel.” 

“Huh.” Chongyun picks up his calla lilies and slides them into Qiqi’s basket. “Well, if you did that and still almost beat me, you’re probably the real winner here.” 

“Oh, so you concede that I’m the superior flower picker?” Xingqiu teases. Chongyun looks up at him, his eyes soft. 

“Yeah. I guess you are.” 

Curiously, Xingqiu’s face turns a few shades of pink darker. Alarmed, Qiqi reaches up with her other hand and touches his cheek. 

“Fever?”

“What?” He blinks. “No no, I’m fine, Qiqi. I’m not sick.” He smiles at her reassuringly. Qiqi looks at him, then at Chongyun, who is rearranging the flowers in the basket. It’s nearly overflowing with their haul, horsetail and lotus heads and snapdragons and now the calla lilies. They’ve more than enough for a few months. 

“Home.” Qiqi tugs at Xingqiu’s hand. “Time to go home.” 

“Yes,” he agrees, still looking at Chongyun. “Time to go home.”

Chongyun offers to carry the basket; he thinks it’s too heavy for Qiqi now. They stand, brushing sand off their clothes. Qiqi reaches out towards Chongyun with her other hand and he takes it, sliding her fingers into his palm. His skin is cold, she notices, but in a soothing way. Like the wet cloths they put on patients with fevers. Nice and cool to relieve the heat. 

She stops in her tracks. 

“Qiqi? What’s—” 

Xingqiu falls silent when she clasps his hand to Chongyun’s. 

“Help your fever,” she says bluntly. Unfortunately, in the next few seconds, it seems Xingqiu is even more feverish than before. In fact, the fever seems to have spread to Chongyun, his face reddening by the second. 

“… Thank you,” Xingqiu finally says. He glances at Chongyun, a smile curving on his face. Qiqi sees him squeeze his hand. “I feel much better now.” 

5. baking a cake

The best part about her friends, Xinyan feels, is how different they all are. 

It starts with Xiangling, her first friend in Liyue Harbor. It started when Xinyan happened to overhear Xiangling pleading with her customers to try her latest concoction, something involving spicy slime condensation. Curious, Xinyan volunteered. To this day, no matter how bizarre the flavor combination, she volunteers. Meanwhile, Xiangling attends every concert no matter how busy business gets and screams her heart out every time. Xiangling was her first friend, but thankfully, she wasn’t the last. 

Hu Tao has her … quirks. The first time they met, she spent twenty minutes discussing the ideal way to desiccate bodies. Then when Xinyan mentioned the latest fire trick she was working on, Hu Tao spent another twenty minutes discussing the ideal way to cremate bodies. At least now, they’ve long since moved on from the topic of ‘the ideal way to ______ bodies’. When they’re both free, they scour the harbor for new stalls to eat from and places to hold Xinyan’s concerts. 

Chongyun is an interesting one. See, he acts all cool as ice, but there’s gotta be some part of him that likes to rock out as much as Xinyan does. That one concert where he leapt onto the stage was just the start. While Xinyan schemes on how to get him to perform with her, in the meantime, they spar together, claymore against claymore. There isn’t much room for conversation, but Xinyan has the feeling he wouldn’t talk much either way. 

Finally, there’s Xingqiu. Second son of the Feiyun Commerce Guild, always decked out in his fine silks and heeled shoes no matter what event they’re at. In all honesty, Xinyan feels like they’re only friends by proxy. Outside of their group, they rarely interact. In fact, if their friend group didn’t exist, Xinyan doubts they would ever have interacted at all. Pyro and Hydro, spikes and frills, rich and commoner … they aren’t exactly a good match. 

Which is why she doesn’t understand why he’s currently in her small and cramped kitchen, an old apron around his waist as he pores over a worn piece of paper on the table. 

“Six eggs,” he announces, then smiles wryly. “When my father insisted I study the language of Mondstadt, I don’t think he meant for me to use it this way.” 

Right, that’s why he’s in her kitchen. Because Xinyan wanted to bake a delicious, beautiful cake, but the recipe was in a foreign language that only Xingqiu had studied. She’s grateful to have a translator, but … out of everyone, why him? 

“Six eggs? That’s a lot.” Xinyan opens the mistflower cabinet, but only trusts herself to hold four at a time. Xingqiu nods after she comes back with the other two. 

“Okay, we have to beat them up, then add a cup of sugar until it’s … ‘thick and fluffy.’” Xingqiu makes a face. “These descriptions are bizarre. Where did you get this from again?” 

“A travelin’ merchant,” Xinyan says, then mutters, “For three thousand Mora.” Even for someone who could easily afford that, Xingqiu looks scandalized. “Hey, it’s not that much,” she says, waving a hand. “I mean, it’ll all be worth it to see the look on Yun Jin’s face.” She props her chin on her wrist and sighs. “Oh, I hope she’ll like it. Heck, I hope she’ll eat it.” 

She reaches for the recipe and studies the picture, an airy light sponge cake with whipped cream frosting and topped with perfect red strawberries. Definitely not in Yun Jin’s strict assigned diet, but Xinyan had always been a bit of a rebel. More than a bit. 

“Well, you’d know her best. You are her … girlfriend, after all,” Xingqiu says. Xinyan raises a brow, but before she can say anything, he holds up an egg. “Ah, how do I crack this?” 

“... Really?” She takes it from him. She shouldn’t be surprised—he’s probably never stepped foot into a kitchen in his life before now. “Here, you crack it against the counter and …” 

By some miracle, Xingqiu doesn’t get any shell bits in the bowl. Xinyan remembers her first time, everything ended up on the table. Granted, she had been only eight years old at the time. 

“Yeah, that’s good!” she says after Xingqiu's attempt. “Make sure you get every bit of white. Use your finger to scoop it out.” 

“You want me to put my finger … in there?” Xingqiu looks appalled. Xinyan rolls her eyes, but does it for him. Once the last bit of egg white glides out, the next five eggs proceed in the same fashion. 

“Okay, time to beat them up!” She holds up a whisk, hovering it over the bowl. This is her favorite part—mixing the yolks and whites until they come together smoothly. Two parts of the same whole, initially separated, but perfectly capable of combining. 

“What on Teyvat is that?” Xingqiu asks over her shoulder. Xinyan represses a sigh. 

“It’s a whisk.” 

“A whisk,” Xingqiu repeats. 

“Yeah, a whisk.” She holds it out to him. “Wanna give it a try?”

Xingqiu hesitates, then takes it. He holds it more gingerly than a newbie learning to use a real sword. “How do I—?”

“You hold the bowl at an angle, like this, and move the whisk in a circle. Yeah, just like that! Now faster!” 

“This is quite taxing,” Xingqiu says with a huff. 

“Keep goin’. I’m gonna add the sugar now.” Xinyan pauses on her way to the cupboard. “Er, how much is in a ‘cup’ of sugar?” 

“Ah, unit conversion. Let’s do the math!” Xingqiu says brightly, still stirring. 

They do the math. Xinyan pours in the sugar, careful not to spill a single crystal.

“Uh, you want me to switch with you?” she asks afterwards—the eggs look well on their way to becoming ‘thick and fluffy’. “Stirrin’ is tirin’, I know.”

“I can still go,” Xingqiu says, cradling the bowl closer. Xinyan eyes his slender arms—maybe there was more strength to them than she thought. “Why don’t you measure out the other ingredients?” 

“Uh, can’t read Mond, remember?”

“Oh, right. Let’s see … In a separate bowl, combine a cup of flour and a pinch of baking powder.” 

“More math?” Xinyan sighs. 

“More math. It’s not that bad, really.” 

Even after she measures out the flour and stirs in the baking powder, Xingqiu is still stirring. He hasn’t lost speed either, surprisingly. Just as she finishes, he sets the bowl down and shakes out his hand. 

“My turn yet?” she asks, wincing for him.

“I’ve got this,” he says, picking it back up. “Ah, you could prepare the pans and heat the oven?” 

“Now that’s somethin’ I can do.” Xinyan reaches for her Vision. A quick blast from it and the stone oven is lit with hot, flickering coals. She rummages around in the cabinets for the cake pans she borrowed from Xiangling, lines them with baking paper, then turns back to Xingqiu.  

“How on Teyvat are you not tired yet? My arm wants to fall off after a few minutes,” she says, watching him stir. 

Xingqiu blinks. “Oh, my arm did get tired, but I switched.” 

“… Huh.” It’s true, Xinyan notices. “I guess I’ve never tried that before. Maybe you’re not as hopeless in the kitchen as I thought.” 

“You thought I was hopeless in the kitchen?” 

“You didn’t even know how to crack an egg. An egg, Xingqiu!” 

He ducks his head. “Alright, that’s fair. But at least I can whip.” 

“Whisk.” 

“Whisk, right. Anyway, does this look ‘thick and fluffy’ enough to you?” He holds the bowl out; its contents are wholly unfamiliar. Xinyan shrugs. 

“Only one way to find out!” 

At long last, they get the cakes into the oven. Xinyan sighs heavily, leans against the counter, and slides to the floor. “That was a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

To her surprise, Xingqiu joins her. Xinyan eyes the floor—it’s not dirty, but it’s not exactly clean either. 

“Hey,” she says after a moment. “Thanks for coming over and helpin’ me. I’m sure you’re busy and everythin’.”

“Ah, not particularly.” Xingqiu shrugs. “I’m always happy to help.” 

“Right. Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

They stare at the oven. It’s pleasantly warm. 

“So …” Xingqiu says slowly. “How are things with Yun Jin?”

Xinyan narrows her eyes. Why was he acting so weird about their relationship? “Things are fine. Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering,” Xingqiu says, a little too quickly to be casual. “So you two are good. That’s good.”

“Okay, now you’re just actin’ weird," Xinyan says with a frown. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothing’s going on, really. It’s just …” Xingqiu kicks his toes together. The old slippers she gave him make soft thumping noises. “How did you do it?” 

“Do what?” 

“Get … Get together,” he mumbles. Xinyan’s head nearly snaps with how quickly she looks at him. 

“Wait a hot sec. Are you askin' me for dating advice?” 

Xingqiu reddens. “Technically, it’s pre-dating advice.” 

“Are you askin' me for pre-dating advice?” 

“Not so loud!” he whispers—as if anyone is there to hear him. “Don’t tell anyone, please. I … I thought you would know best. Since you’re actually in a committed relationship.” 

With each word, Xingqiu looks more and more like a teenager-sized strawberry. It’s far from the elegant and composed rich kid Xinyan always pictures him as. 

Huh. Pretty boy here was in love, and Xinyan can pretty much guess who. Anyone who spends enough time around him can guess who. She starts to smile, ready to tease him to pieces, when she remembers his question. 

How did you do it?

“I ... didn’t do anythin’.” She curls her legs to her chest. “Yun Jin was the one who asked me out. I wouldn’t ever have had the guts to do somethin’ like that.” 

“Really? Why not?” 

Xinyan doesn’t know why she gives a real answer. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t know him as well. Maybe it’s because too often, she acts before she thinks. Or maybe it’s because these feelings have been in her for far, far too long. Whatever the reason is, once she opens her mouth, the words don’t stop. 

“If I’m bein honest, I don’t know why she asked me out.” Her throat tightens. “She’s a famous star. I just make trouble for the Millileth. People watch her shows everyday, while I’ll be lucky to even have an audience. She’s so beautiful, and I’m …” Scary. A bad influence. Better off somewhere else. 

Xingqiu doesn’t say anything. Xinyan burns. Great, now I’ve ruined everythin’. 

“Nevermind,” she mumbles. “Just forget I said anythin’.” 

“No, wait.” Xingqiu glances at her, then back at the oven. “I was … thinking.” He takes a breath. “I’ve been attending Yun Jin’s shows ever since she debuted. She was—is—incredible, every time. And I remember after all her performances, she would come out onto the stage to smile and greet the audience.”

“And? She still does that.” 

“Not quite.” She can hear Xingqiu’s smile. “I noticed a difference once you started coming. She always looks out into the crowd, looking for you. I can always tell when she finds you just from the way she smiles.” His voice softens. “She really likes you, you know.” 

With each word, Xinyan can feel the tightness in her chest unraveling. She hugs her legs closer against her steadying heartbeat. The embers in the oven flicker and pop. 

“Well,” she says, ignoring the catch in her voice, “when you say things like that, I don’t think you need any help askin’ him out.”

“Do you really think so?” Xingqiu abruptly blanches. “Wait, him?”  

“Yep! He really likes you too~!” she says in a sing-song voice. 

“Wait, Xinyan— How do you know?”

“I just do,” Xinyan snickers. Before Xingqiu can say anything more, she hops to her feet. “Say, think they’re done yet?” 

He only lets out a sigh, then says, “Let’s take a look.” 

They peek into the oven. The cakes have risen and turned a beautiful golden brown. Xinyan grabs a towel and takes them out. Xingqiu extinguishes the oven. 

After cooling, they layer the cakes with whipped cream—courtesy of Xinyan, since Xingqiu’s arms were too tired. She takes a minute positioning each strawberry until placing it on the blanket of white. Finished, they take a step back to admire their work. 

“Well … it doesn’t exactly look like the picture,” Xingqiu muses. “But it’s close enough, right?” 

Xinyan stares at it, memorizing every strawberry and dollop of cream. “It’s exactly as I imagined,” she breathes. 

After a moment, she rummages in a drawer and finds a knife. “Wanna try a slice?” When Xingqiu looks hesitant, she adds, “She probably won’t eat the whole thing. Besides, cakes always look better with one slice cut out.” 

“Alright,” Xingqiu concedes. “I’ve never tried a cake like this anyway.” 

One bite in, and his eyes go wide. 

“So … what’s the verdict?” Xinyan asks. Xingqiu licks his spoon clean, eyes gleaming. 

“I think she’ll love it.” 

(Yun Jin does love it. She eats one slice, then shares the rest with a few children playing nearby. As they clamor over who gets the bigger slice, she leans over and kisses Xinyan.

“Whoa,” Xinyan says, half-dazed. “If it takes a cake to get you to do that, I’ll have to have Xingqiu over again.”

Yun Jin laughs. “It doesn’t take a cake to get me to do that.” She lays her head against Xinyan’s shoulder. “Are you two getting along?” 

Xinyan thinks of cracked eggs and old slippers and the warmth of an oven. Of a friend. 

“Yeah. I think we are.”)

+1. writing a letter

The worst part about being a teenager, Chongyun thinks, is all the drama. 

Who has a crush on who, who confessed to who, who is dating who, it all drives him insane! It doesn’t help that Hu Tao is always snooping around for gossip or that Xinyan and Yun Jin and Xiangling are always eating it up. Chongyun couldn’t care less about anyone else’s love life. Except for maybe—

Nope. Not going there. 

He would be lying though, if he said he’d never been entangled in this teenager-love-drama. He’s received a few confessions before, through letters and in person alike, but none of them have been particularly … meaningful. Frankly, his confessors were practically strangers—other people who happened to be around the same age and liked him hopefully for more than just his appearance. 

After the first few rejections, word traveled fast, and soon he garnered a reputation for having a stoic face as he rebuffed the heartfelt feelings of his admirers. He hasn’t received any confessions for months, and he’d like to keep it that way. 

That’s all dashed to dust when he meets her.  

It’s a warm, aimless spring day when she ambushes him on the street. Sharp eyes, short blonde hair, frown on her face. He’s seen her around the harbor manning the boats and snapping at kids, but he doesn’t know her name. She forgoes all manners and starts the conversation by thrusting a scroll under his nose. 

“For you.”

Chongyun takes it, too confused to say anything. 

“It’s not mine, by the way. I just got paid a nice bit to deliver it.” She salutes mockingly, then spins on her feet and walks away. He watches her go, then stares down at the scroll in his hand. Tentatively, he unrolls it. 

It’s a letter printed on creamy white paper, the small, neat characters written with the most careful of strokes.

My dear Chongyun, it reads. Already, his stomach is churning. 

I know you aren’t one for matters of the heart, but I have something I need to tell you. Please come to the koi ponds tonight at six. 

I’ll be waiting. 

Chongyun has to reread the whole thing three times before the meaning finally sinks in. This isn’t just any letter, it’s a confession letter. Someone likes him. Someone other than—

Rejecting people has never been easy, but it’s fine. He’s done this before. What’s one more heart broken? What’s one more day spent pining after—?

“Whatcha lookin’ at?”

Chongyun jumps and whirls around. Xinyan and Xiangling are craning their necks over each of his shoulders, prying like the nosy girls they are. He’s about to chastise them when someone else behind him snatches the letter from his hand. 

“Oooh, what could this be?” Hu Tao eagerly scans the note, eyes widening with each word. Her jaw drops. 

“Hu Tao,” Chongyun says warningly, “give it—”

“Chongyun got a confession letter!” she crows, waving it in the air. Xiangling and Xinyan let out twin shouts of delight. 

“Really?! Who is it, who is it?!” Xiangling says, hopping up and down. “Is it that girl that Yun Jin works with? The backup singer?”

“There’s no way!” Xinyan retorts, trying to get a look at the letter. “Didn’t she get a boyfriend?”

“I dunno, maybe she still likes Chongyun!”

“What?! That ain’t right!”

“Ladies, ladies,” Hu Tao drawls, waving her hands. Thankfully, for the sake of Chongyun’s ears and sanity, they stop talking. 

She holds up the letter for all to see. “No signature. It’s anonymous.”

“What?!” Xinyan squints at the page. 

“Well … I guess that’s only natural,” Xiangling says thoughtfully. “It’s meant to be a surprise.”

“No no, there’s no way. Look at the handwriting!” Xinyan leans in to further scrutinize the paper. “Well, I guess I can read it, so it’s prob’ly not—”

“But look, it’s on fancy paper,” Xiangling says, touching a fingertip to the surface. 

“Wait, let me see the ink—” Hu Tao angles the paper in the light. “Umm, well ... Looks like regular ink! Yep!” She laughs it off, but the glance she sends the others is anything but innocent. 

Chongyun holds out his hand. “... Are you done?” 

“Hang on!” Hu Tao pouts. “We’ve still got a few more things to check!” 

After holding the letter in at least six different orientations, three group huddles, and way too much whispering, the three girls finally finish examining the piece of paper. 

“Well?” Hu Tao says as she returns it to him. 

“Well … what?” 

“Are you going?!” Three pairs of eyes glare at him expectantly. Chongyun takes a step back. 

“I feel like I don’t have a choice here.”

“You don’t!” they say in unison. 

“You need our help,” Xiangling says smartly. “We’re going to make you look perfect for your special night.”

“Yeah, you can’t wear … this.” Xinyan gestures to all of him. 

Hu Tao grins, a gleam in her eyes. “You’re in luck! I know just what they like.”

Chongyun backs away some more. “Wait, you know who wrote—”

“No questions! Let’s goooo!” Two of them grab him by the hands while the other pushes his back, and they herd him all the way down the street into the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. They pass a perplexed Zhongli and his Snezhnayan companion who nearly spills his tea from laughing. 

Great, Chongyun can’t help but think as he’s shoved in a room. Nothing like getting ready for a date … in a room full of coffins. 

“We’ll be back!” Xiangling chirps. Chongyun doesn’t even have time to protest before the door slams shut. Until they do come back, though, it’ll give him plenty of time to rehearse his rejection speech. He usually recycles a lot of what he said last time. 

“I’m flattered by your feelings, but I’m not interested in a relationship,” he murmurs. He raises his voice an octave. “‘Oh, I understand. I’ll be on my way now! Have a good day!’”

He sighs. If only things were so simple. 

By the time the girls get back, he has a solid outline in mind—acknowledge their feelings, politely reject them, and assure them they have good qualities that would be more compatible with someone else. The key to a successful rejection, if such an idea exists, is to let them down gently. Make it as painless as possible. It’s not them, it’s him. 

Should I tell them I already like someone? he wonders. He can hear talking from outside the room—three familiar voices, bright and chattering. Definitely not, he decides. Word travels too fast in Liyue, not to mention admitting he has a crush would sweep him up in the love drama that he does everything to avoid. The girls would become even more unbearable then. 

“Yunyun, we’re back!” Hu Tao kicks open the door, Xiangling and Xinyan right on her tailcoats. They all have suspiciously large parcels in their hands. “Time to make you look amazing for your date!”

“Wait, it’s not a da—” A bundle of fabric is thrown unceremoniously at his face. Chongyun catches it and rubs at his stinging nose. 

“Put that on,” Xinyan says. “We’ll wait outside.” 

“We will?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t we?” 

They leave. Chongyun puts the clothes on. They come back. 

“Mmm …” Xiangling tilts her head. Hu Tao taps her cheek. Xinyan shakes her head. 

“Next!” 

The next two hours proceed in this fashion. The Next. Two. Hours. 

Chongyun never wants to change clothes again in his life. 

Okay, he might be exaggerating. The two hours aren’t terrible. Hu Tao makes flower tea, Xiangling whips up some snacks in the parlor’s dinky kitchen, Xinyan leads some impromptu karaoke. They pick out the strangest outfits for Chongyun and double over with laughter until they can’t breathe. It’s nice seeing them unwind and relax this way. In fact, Chongyun almost forgets he even has to reject some poor person until Xiangling checks the time and screams. 

“It’s ten til six!” 

“What?!” Hu Tao sits up with a start, amber eyes zeroing in on Chongyun. “Go! Now!” 

“Wait, in this?” he sputters, gesturing to the outfit they still haven’t finished picking out, but Xinyan is already shoving him towards the door. 

“If they really like you, it won’t matter what you’re wearing,” Xiangling says sagely, as if she’s even qualified to speak on relationships. “Good luck, Chongyun.”

“Why are you speaking as if I’m going on some dangerous death mission?” 

“Good luck, Chongyun,” Hu Tao says gravely. 

“Not you too!” 

“You’ve got this!” Xinyan yells. That’s better. 

“Good luck, Chongyun,” Zhongli says on his way out. “With … whatever it is you need luck in.” 

“Thanks,” Chongyun sighs. 

“Uhh … sure you wanna go out in that, buddy?” the Snezhnayan says, blinking at Chongyun. 

“I don’t exactly have a choice.”

“... Yeah, I figured.” He smiles crookedly. “Guess you’re gonna need that luck.” 

At least the streets aren’t too crowded at this time—all the less people to be privy to his disastrous outfit. It’s dinnertime, so most people are inside their homes enjoying a meal with their families. The Wanmin Restaurant is packed, undoubtedly, while a few people linger outside at food stalls. The Bubu Pharmacy closes at six-thirty, so this really is the optimal time to confess at the koi ponds. Quiet, calm, isolated … 

The closer he gets, the more anxious Chongyun becomes. After all, he’s dressed in a ridiculous outfit, he’s only consumed shrimp fried rice and floral tea in the past two hours, and he’s on his way to reject someone’s feelings for him. This feels like a scene from some terrible romantic comedy trashy novels that Xingqiu likes. Honestly, this entire scenario feels like something Xingqiu would set up as a prank. No, his heart isn’t beating faster at the thought of his best friend, why do you ask? 

Chongyun reaches the koi ponds. Archons, he’s finally made it. Now if he can just find whoever wrote the letter and get on with his evening. Let’s see, there’s an elderly couple sitting by the water, a few children still feeding the fish, and staring out at a balcony is—

“Xingqiu?” Chongyun inches forward, blinking furiously. It is Xingqiu, his face lit by the early twilight. His back is to Chongyun, but Chongyun still stands very, very still. 

This is bad. He can’t meet up with a confessor—not when he’s here. 

He scans the area again, but there doesn’t appear to be anyone who could be the letter writer. No other teenagers, no one peeking out from the shadows. No one’s even trying to get his attention, except for—

Xingqiu. He’s turned around, face lit up with recognition. 

“Chongyun!” He waves him forward. Reluctantly, Chongyun walks over to him, still on alert for the letter writer. 

“I’m so glad you … What are you wearing?” Xingqiu covers his mouth with his hand, his shoulders starting to shake with silent laughter. “Oh … Oh archons. I’m sorry,” he manages to say between laughs. Chongyun frowns, but this is Xingqiu. He can’t stay angry at him for too long. 

He sighs. “The girls picked it out for me.” He lifts his arms and the sleeves billow out like clouds. “They were playing dress-up, really.” 

“I can tell. I bet this is Hu Tao’s pick.” Xingqiu gestures to the gaudy brooch at Chongyun’s throat, the design foreign. “And Xiangling definitely chose those pants you’re wearing.” 

“This cat pattern?” Chongyun looks down, a repeated tabby cat winking up at him. “I wasn’t even going to ask.”

“I don’t even know how they got that much clothes in such a short amount of time.” 

“I mean, have you seen their outfits? I don’t know how they get ready in the morning …” Chongyun stills at the feeling of Xingqiu’s hand against his collarbone. “Xingqiu?”

The hand jerks away. Xingqiu clears his throat. 

“Sorry. Your collar wasn’t even.” 

“It’s fine,” Chongyun says quickly. “It’s … it’s really fine. More than fine.” 

Xingqiu smiles wryly. “How fine is more than fine?”

“I don’t know,” Chongyun admits. Xingqiu’s expression softens, and underneath the gentle lantern light, Chongyun could stare at him all night. Forever, even. 

All at once, the breath is sucked from his lungs. 

“Oh, archons.” He steps back. “I—I was supposed to do something here. Meet someone.”

Xingqiu tilts his head. “Is that so?” 

“Someone sent me a letter. They wanted me to meet me here to—“ His face reddens. “Do something. I think.” 

“To confess their feelings?” 

Xingqiu’s voice is unusually serious. Slowly, Chongyun nods. 

“Chongyun …” 

Xingqiu lowers his head, shadows falling over his face. 

“I wrote that letter.”

The first thing Chongyun says is,

“No, you didn’t.” 

Then, 

“Your handwriting isn’t— It’s not—“

Finally, 

“Did you hire someone to write it for you?”

This whole time, a smile has been widening on Xingqiu’s face. 

“Oh, dear Chongyun,” he says fondly, “I just wrote it with my other hand.” 

“Your … your other hand? You can just do that? ”

“Yes? Why not?” He holds up his left hand, wiggling his fingers. “My left hand has always been better. I’m just not given many opportunities to use it.” 

In the silence that follows, Xingqiu doesn’t think he’s ever seen Chongyun look so confused before. His mouth opens and closes like the koi in the ponds as he all but gawks at a hand. 

Xingqiu sighs. “Chongyun, does it really matter which hand I use?” 

“Yes. I feel like my whole life is a lie,” Chongyun replies dazedly. “Your handwriting is horrible. It’s not supposed to look like this.”  

“But you still got my message, didn’t you? And now, I can do this.” Xingqiu lays his hand against his friend’s cheek, startling him out of his confusion. After a moment, Chongyun leans into his touch. His hand comes up and curls around Xingqiu’s wrist. 

“I like you,” Xingqiu whispers. 

“I … I like you too,” Chongyun murmurs. His face is warm beneath Xingqiu’s palm, but he probably doesn’t look any different. 

“I like you a lot,” Xingqiu teases. 

“Well— So do I.” Chongyun ducks his head. “I guess the girls were right. If my confessor really liked me, it wouldn’t matter what I was wearing.” 

“For the record, I like what you’re wearing. You look very cute.” 

Chongyun flushes. “Even the cat print?” 

“Especially the cat print. You’re a lot like a cat, you know?” 

“Is that a compliment?” 

“Of course.” Xingqiu uses his other hand to smooth a lock of ice blue hair. “Where are the girls, anyway?” 

“Probably still at the funeral parlor waiting for me to come back.” 

“Well, we should go tell them the good news. Shall we?” Xingqiu offers his hand; Chongyun doesn’t hesitate to slide his fingers against his. It’s all just too perfectly romantic. 

As they walk down the street, Chongyun sighs. “I can’t believe I’ve known you all these years and never noticed once you were left-handed.” 

Xingqiu glances down at their laced hands and feels his heart flutter. “I don’t usually use it. My right hand can get the job done just fine.” 

“Your handwriting is illegible.” 

Xingqiu shrugs. “Illegible, but conventional. A commerce guild heir has to be.” 

Chongyun stops and turns. He grabs Xingqiu’s elbows, pulling him closer and looking him dead in the eye. “Hey. You … You don’t have to be conventional around me. Okay?” 

With his quiet, intense voice and cool blue eyes staring him down, it’s a wonder Xingqiu can even manage to nod. Current outfit and all. 

“Your real handwriting’s nice,” Chongyun finally says, breaking eye contact. He’s flustered again. Xingqiu smiles. 

“Then I shall pen a love poem in it,” he declares. Chongyun shakes his head, but he doesn’t object. 

They separate upon reaching the funeral parlor. It’s long after closing time, but the lights inside are still on. Xingqiu raps his knuckles against the door and stands back. He can hear several yells and cheers before the door is flung open. 

“You’re back!” Xiangling squeals, first in tow. “Oh, I knew it would be you, Xingqiu!” 

Behind her, Xinyan rolls her eyes. “We all knew it. Took him long enough.” 

“So did you tell him?” Hu Tao squeezes in next to Xiangling, looking eagerly between the two of them. “You better have told him!” 

Xingqiu clears his throat. “Yes. I finally told him that …” The girls lean in to catch his every word. He takes a breath, looks at Chongyun, then back at them. They lean in even closer. 

“I’m actually left-handed.” 

Everything falls so silent, Xingqiu thinks he can hear the spirits whispering. 

“Ohhhh.” Xiangling is the first to break the silence. Her eyes are wide with understanding. “So that’s how you can put chilis in Chongyun’s food no matter where you sit!” 

“Excuse me, what?” Chongyun says, but his confusion is unheard. 

“And why you have crazy arm stamina!” 

“And why your handwriting is legitimately unreadable.” Hu Tao shudders. “Well, that clears up everything! Thanks for telling us, Xingqiu.” As the other girls echo their agreement, her face freezes in realization. She jabs a finger at him. “Hey, that’s not the answer we wanted! You distracted us!” 

“Yeah, you never told us how the confession went!” Xiangling pouts. 

“Are you two together yet?!” Xinyan all but yells. 

Xingqiu takes a few steps back. “Ah, I think we’d better go,” he whispers to Chongyun. 

“I think so too,” he whispers back. 

It happens so naturally—left and right, meeting in the middle. Palms press, fingers curl, smiles meet. 

The best part about being a teenager, Xingqiu thinks—racing through the night, a cool hand in his, an indescribable happiness bubbling in his chest—is this.