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Okay, there was definitely something wrong with him.
Why the hell was he acting like a distressed maiden worrying about when her husband will be home!? It's only been about an hour over when Binghe said he'd try to get home! He knew it would take his husband longer because of the mishap between the south and north of the demon realm. So why was he pacing around their room? Binghe would be fine. He is fine.
He lets out a small huff before finally plopping down, a bit ungracefully, onto their shared bed now filled with the softest of blankets and pillows, thanks to Binghe of course. Running his hands along the furs, he looks up to the window. It’s cracked open just slightly. He'd have to close it tonight, the wind is already getting a bit harsh. He can hear the bamboo leaves rusting outside. Gosh it's quiet. Very quiet.
When was the last time he'd been alone like this? Like, actually alone. He hadn't heard the system since the "plot" was finished. Not that he was really worried about that, it's just... strange is all. He can actually think now!! No more loud notifications! But ah... it's a bit lonely, isn't it?
Back in his original body, his original world, he was quite used to being alone. He was more of a homebody than anything. Especially with the internet existing of course. Why go out if you have all you need in your house? God what he would do to use the internet again. But after so long of being surrounded by disciples, his martial siblings, the system, and Binghe, he feels a bit out of place. He was quite literally thrown into this world with absolutely no warning and just kind of... shoved around. By the system, the plot points, the missions... at least he doesn't have to worry about those anymore, right? He can live out the dream really.
Since he got here, he's wanted this peaceful life. And now he's got it.
Speaking of, how much time has passed now? A few years of course. Maybe more than a few. He had tried his best to keep track of ah, the modern equivalent of time while he was here but... over the years and the chaos, he'd given that up and just gotten used to what they have already. Just another way he's adapted to this world. I wonder what month it would be? What day? The day he died in his original body, it was almost June? Hah how time flies when you're constantly worried about death!
He huffs out a small laugh, laying back on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. Binghe should be home any sichen now, he supposed. In the midst of his thoughts, he feels something wet slide across his cheek.
Did it start raining? Is the roof leaking? He takes a quick second to glance around the ceiling, looking for possible damage. No, it doesn't look like it... He lifts a hand to touch his cheek and pulls it back in astonishment. He's crying. There were miserable sounds coming from his mouth. He pushed back against the bed to sit up, bringing another hand to wipe at his eyes. It doesn't seem to do much to help. In fact, it just makes everything worse.
His sobs get a bit louder. If anyone were to walk past the bamboo house now, they'd definitely hear his pitiful cries. Shifting his legs up to rest his chin on and wrap his arms around, he wonders if his meimei's birthday has already passed. How old would she be now? What does she look like... finally an adult like she always wanted, no, whined, to be. And what about his er-ges?
Did they still work at fathers' company? Or did they move on to do their own thing... they always moaned about wanting to escape his shadow or whatever. He clutches his legs a little harder, clumsily scrunching his nose at the idea of missing so many things, events. And oh... his momma. He hadn't heard her voice in so long. Even before he died, he never visited as often as he should have.
And now he can't.
It's easy to get lost in thought now, with his sobs echoing through the house and into the night. He isn't able to stop himself really. It was a long time coming. He wonders who found him... or well, his body to be precise. Was it his meimei visiting him with his favorite noodles? Or was it the downstairs neighbor always complaining about the loud music he plays?
To be fair, it really wasn't even that loud. The old man just had faulty hearing aids. Why was it his fault he couldn't enjoy good music? Miku is literally the best of the best!
And really, is it his fault he doesn't catch the squeak of the door opening? Or the knowing pitter patter of his partners' feet across their wooden floor? No, he only notices when he calls out for him.
And even then, it's a bit too late to collect himself. So, with all the dignity he had left, which wasn't much, he wiped his face the best he could and stood up, brushing down his ruffled robes.
"In here, Binghe-ah" he replies back, voice a little hoarse. He winces in embarrassment before their bedroom door is opened and Binghe walks in with all his protagonist glory, beautiful as always. He watches as his husband's ravenous eyes roam along his somewhat disheveled figure before finally landing on his face. He lets out a small gasp before quickly clicking his mouth shut. "Shizun?" He whispers out, as if afraid to frighten his master, his husband. Shen Qingqiu just lets out a small sigh in reply before once again settling on their bed, looking up at Binghe with a crooked smile.
"This master is fine, Binghe." He tilts his head a bit, letting his loose hair cover the open space of his neck as the other finds his way closer before abruptly dropping himself at his master's feet. It's hard to tell what's going through his mind now, he surprisingly has a better poker face than himself! He was half expecting Binghe to look up at him with watering eyes and wobbly lips but... no, that's not what he sees. Instead, he takes Shen Qingqius' still wet hands on his own before bringing them up to his soft pink lips.
Shen Qingqiu lets out a small sound before trying and failing to pull his hands back. Not that he doesn't like... whatever this is, but his already thin face really isn't doing too well! Hell, his husband walked in on him quite literally sobbing his heart out! Well, not exactly, but he might as well have! With a barely concealed flushed face, he clears his throat before addressing the heavenly demon.
"What is my sticky disciple up to now, hm?" He watches closely as Binghe's face scrunches with indignation before that familiar pout finally adorns his lips and his eyebrows twist up in a knowing manner. Unable to help himself, Shen Qingqiu releases a small, amused huff.
"Shizun always assumes I'm up to no good! Can't this disciple just want the best for his husband?" Ah! Twice in one go! Calm down, Binghe, you're already married to this master!
"That's because you usually are up to no good..." He mutters to himself before gently bringing a palm to cup the other’s cheek, lightly patting as he does so. Of course, being a heavenly demon and all, Binghe hears this. And obviously, his pout only grows. This time with a glaze over his eyes to enhance the effect! Binghe had always known how to lower his guard.
Shen Qingqiu only tsks at his husbands' efforts. "Don't your knees hurt, ah?" He mumbles, tone chiding yet his eyes are all too warm to have any real effect on the other. With a wide grin, Binghe takes his mumble as an invitation and climbs his way up onto the bed, as close to his Shizun he could get. Their sides were now completely flush against each other, much to his thin faced dismay. Where the hell did he put his fan? He was almost positive he'd left it on the side table! But alas, it wasn't there when he glanced over to it.
All he hears is a disgruntled rumble before his chin is cradled by a large yet soft hand and is forced to look up into red blazing eyes. Surely his face is all blotchy right? His eyes red rimmed and swollen? So why the hell was he looking at him like that!? He isn't a gorgeous maiden who had just cried about losing her true love! Look away, Binghe-ah!
His face flushes without permission and his eyebrows dip low in a bit of an aggrieved look.
"Husband," He calls out gently, a thumb beginning to trace along his cheekbone. "Is something bothering you?"
Ah. He dropped the formality it seems. That's fine. Everything is fine.
He lets his body slump into the others hold, knowing he'd catch him, support him, with no issue, as he hears a small sob escape his mouth. Binghe, not quite understanding what's happening, but wanting to comfort his despondent partner, wraps his arms around the other and pulls him halfway into his lap. His head now resting on his husband's shoulder and his legs draped over the others. The action only makes him sob harder. Binghe in return, whines, and holds him even closer, if possible. He hates seeing his beloved so... small.
All his life, Shen Qingqiu had been his Shizun. Someone to look up to. Someone with a cold, smart, proud, demeanor, whose face was as equally thin, and stone faced. To see him cry like this, no, bawl like this, was almost unimaginable to him. There had been that small moment in the Holy Mausoleum, but his master was so set on not letting him see. Not letting him even know.
To now allow him to hold him as he sobs? Despite the circumstances, it's an experience he'd never give up. It shows how far his husband has come, to let himself go like this. And so, with this knowledge, he lets his master cry into his arms, his shoulder, his chest... as long as he gets to hold him through it.
After about half an hour of seemingly endless sobs, Shen Qingqiu sniffles, and slowly lifts his head. His eyes are now ten times puffier, there are dozens of wet tracks along his flushed blotchy cheeks and nose, and his lips are red slick bitten. Binghe only leans in slowly to lay a small, incredibly gentle, kiss upon his lips. He tips into the kiss after a few still seconds and sighs.
He should probably start talking now, huh. With much discomfort, he backs away from his husband's warm embrace and angles himself to look up into the heavenly demon’s eyes while still being able to hide his face with his long, now a tad messy, hair. Binghe lets him with a mere displeased whine.
"Husband..." He starts with a tremble in his voice, not quite sure how to even start this conversation. If he even could. Bracing himself, he calls out in his mind. System? Nothing. Carefully, slowly, he starts up again. "This... I have.. wronged you."
“In too many ways..."
He can hear more than see Binghe shift in front of him, a little anxious repositioning as he awaits his Husbands words.
"My name is not Shen Jiu." He blurts out quickly before wincing, waiting any minute for the telling sound of the Systems warnings to start blaring. Silence is all that follows. He lets out a small huffing laugh before fully facing Binghe, his face on full display now. His husband's eyes are wide, looking all too unsure of himself. With a small, tilted smile, he lightly grabs one of Binghes. Seeing his lovely husband's mouth open just slightly before closing once more, he begins once more. "And I may be Shen Qingqiu now, but... do you, ah... remember my qi deviation? Or well... his, I suppose."
"Yes." Binghe replies, voice small but certain. "You... changed. Drastically."
Shen Qingqiu hums in encouragement. He rubs his fingers gently across the other palm. Surely the protagonist gets it now, with how smart he's always been. He watches as his husband's face varies from surprise, understanding, and then admiration. Shen Qingqiu rolls his eyes playfully before a small, barely there, pout crosses his lips.
"You're not, ah, angry with me?"
Binghes eyes widen once more before he quite literally darts forward, knocking them both back onto the plush bed. He can hear himself let out an undignified "oof!". His husband, thankfully, takes back most of his weight in favor of caging him in below him, arms on both sides of his head.
"Binghe!" He scolds once he finally catches his breath, that was just knocked out of him.
"Shizun!" He bleats in reply, looking utterly heartbroken as he stares down at his lover.
"This lowly one is anything but!" He blurts out, his wavy black hair cascading down from his face, trapping them both in darkness. The only thing they can really see is each other. Shen Qingqiu tsks before playfully rapping his fist along the other back. "What did I say about calling yourself that?" His husband ignores his scolding, naturally, and continues.
“I've just been told that the man who cherishes me, and the man who… despised me, are anything but similar.” He chokes out, tears now beginning to coat his eyes. And it's clear this time he's not doing it for any gain, sympathy, or favor.
“How in any world could I be angry?”