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Nice always wants to wear white and gold.
Even when he sheds the winged gorget and folds the cape away, Bai Shun’s closet is filled with ivory and white, and soft pastels. His accessories drip with gold and pearls. He always loved those colors, and loves them to this day.
Yao Luan loves to see Bai Shun wear the colors he likes. The outfits he likes. Flowing fabric and delicate chains. Draping sleeves and graceful silhouettes that draw attention to his long neck and careful fingers. He wears silk because he likes the shine of it, topaz because it matches his eyes, and he always lifts his chin a little higher when Yao Luan calls his outfit beautiful.
Even though they both know Yao Luan would call all of his outfits beautiful, as long as Bai Shun is the one modeling them.
Yao Luan’s closet leans more toward black and grey, though he’s gotten several colorful items over the years, as Bai Shun pushes him to expand his wardrobe. Apparently oscillating between fully formal and completely grunge is ‘freaky’ and ‘belongs in magazines about diagnosable behaviors’.
So; now he has slacks that he can’t wear to formal events, and button-ups he can dress down, and tasteful accessories that aren't made of leather or bone. Wreck still has his bone earrings, but when they go out they coordinate, in a way that Yao Luan finds fascinating, and Bai Shun treats like it’s normal.
Couples are supposed to coordinate, he says. Or; at least they should look like they put in the same amount of effort.
Yao Luan wants them to match, very badly. He’s been carrying a little box around in his pocket for over a month now, trying to find the right time to ask. He’s had to change the contents of that box to a new box twice already, when his sweaty nervous hands crushed the soft velvet, or he tried to pull it out but fumbled it into some mud, and claimed the thing he stuffed back in his coat pocket was his phone, because Yao Luan couldn’t ask him something so important with hands covered in mud.
Unacceptable.
It had to be perfect.
There had been several close calls over the last month, as Yao Luan sometimes forgets it’s still in his pocket. He’s had to leap across the room with fumbled excuses as Bai Shun gathered up their discarded clothes to wash, and to steal the chore from him. He’s had to step back from flirting, when wandering hands try to sneak inside his pockets for a closer touch.
Sometimes, when Bai Shun is asleep, he takes it out to look and practice the words in the quiet of their bedroom. He apologizes to his boyfriend’s sleeping silhouette that he can’t be braver, or more impulsive. That he can’t just tell him what he wants, apropos of nothing over some street food, or in a quiet moment as they embrace in bed.
When Yao Luan goes into the TREEMAN office to work another day as one of their Junior Architects, he leaves the ring at home. When Wreck faces Nice in pitched battle, the ring is usually safely at home, tucked at the very back of a drawer, where he can’t lose it.
But whenever they go out to eat, or to the park for a walk, or out to a rocky shoreline that’s no good for swimmers but can host a picnic just fine, the box is in his pocket, always. He wants to find that moment. He needs to jump already, eyes wide open. Take the step and commit to it.
He keeps planning, and his plans fall through, and days keep slipping away.
It’s New Year’s Eve, already.
They dress in heavy coats and thick scarves, and Yao Luan loves the dark flush of pink that paints Bai Shun’s skin in the cold. He loves the way his translucent eyelashes pop against the darker color, and the way his nose and lips flush, and how Bai Shun demands Yao Luan to warm up his cold fingers by sticking them up the back of his coat with no warning.
Well, maybe not love on that last one, but the fact Bai Shun does it at all makes his heart go all soft and fluttery. He’s secure, around Yao Luan. Brash and demanding. He takes what he wants, and Yao Luan will always give it.
He gave his work life to the contract with TREEMAN, even when his parents advised against it. He gave his future to Bai Shun, chasing after him with stars in his eyes. Even after blow-up arguments and frustrating miscommunications and sharp snaps over frayed tempers, he still-
He still wants to be at Bai Shun’s side. He gave all of himself to Bai Shun, years ago.
He just needs the same promise, back.
He needs to ask the question.
Hand in hand, they join the crowd at the city’s center, to watch the countdown to the new year. Yao Luan stuffed hand-warming packs into Bai Shun’s pockets before they left, but he still gets fingers shoved up under the hem of his coat, to jab ice-cold against his belly. He’s pretty sure Bai Shun does it just to hear him gasp and flinch.
Or maybe he does it so he can slide cool fingers along the hem of his pants, fingers squeezing into the soft flesh of his waist in a possessive claim that no one else can see.
Friends shout and wave at each other across the crowd. Children sit on their parent’s shoulders, and other parents tiredly tell one child not to bite the other, and someone spills their bag of popcorn with an expression of such shocked dejection that Yao Luan feels amusement as well as pity.
There’s a weight of anticipation in the air. Excitement hangs over them like a wave about to crest. The largest display screen shows celebrities talking about the parade to come, their wishes for the new year, the displays of acrobatics and dance going on across the nation.
Below is the date and time.
December 31st, 37 AC
11:38 PM
They meander with the crowd, scarves high enough and knit hats low enough that he’s certain no one will recognize them. Bai Shun holds him close, holds onto the belt loops of his trousers so they don’t get separated in the crowd. They get street food and share messy bites over a pile of napkins. When they kiss after, Bai Shun tastes like fried pork and that spicy sauce that he kept dunking his bites into. Yao Luan blames sichuan peppers for the way his lips tingle.
The atmosphere grows wilder, heavier, as the clock continues to tick toward midnight and the temperature continues to drop. The two of them push their way closer to the street’s center, where the view between buildings is unobstructed, to see the night sky beyond. Street vendor lights and brightly lit kiosks and glow sticks of all kinds bathe the crowd in a glowing, shifting rainbow.
Bai Shun’s hands are chilled, and his breath comes out in fogging pants, but his blue eyes are beautiful, even though Trust already stopped the tremble they once had, back when they first met at camp. It lets him meet Yao Luan’s eyes from across the room, and go outside without sunglasses. Being a Hero corrected his vision, in a way medicine never could.
But it also removed the pink glint, because enough people believe he had blue eyes, and the unwashed masses didn’t appreciate the beauty of blood-red backlighting through blue to make a dusky lavender that took his breath away. Like a shard of sunrise had been captured behind the snow of his lashes.
Yao Luan misses those eyes. Aches for the sight of them, even though he knows Bai Shun would hate to lose his perfect vision. It’s a selfish desire. He doesn’t voice it aloud.
Only two minutes left.
Yao Luan laughs and squeezes back as Bai Shun hooks their elbows together, leaning close to watch the screen’s final countdown. The box in his pocket feels like both a lead weight and a bit of dandelion fluff that might drift away the moment he takes a breath. He can’t let go of it, or he’ll lose it.
He can’t lose the ring, after losing his nerve so many times.
He kisses Bai Shun’s temple as they hit the one-minute mark, and the frenzy of the crowd whips up around them. Bai Shun moves his hand to tuck into Yao Luan’s pocket, and he nearly has a heart-attack that he’ll touch the box, but he only draws his hand out to lace their fingers together.
Together they count backwards from thirty, as all the commercial screens synchronize to show the time. To show the seconds passing, as Yao Luan’s heart beats louder and louder inside his chest.
In front of them, a little girl on her father’s shoulders wiggles so hard that he loses his grip, a little. They both gasp, and Bai Shun steps forward to grab her, but her father twists and scoops her back into his arms - upside down and backwards, but unharmed.
The two of them meet eyes, and all three breathe a sigh of relief.
The father smiles at Bai Shun, and Bai Shun steps back into Yao Luan’s chest. He wraps his arms around the man he loves. Tucks their winter-chilled cheeks together, as Yao Luan’s chin hooks over Bai Shun’s shoulder. Snow begins to fall in thick flakes, whirling around them.
Ten seconds. The crowd chants the numbers around them, voices pulsing through the air as one, strong enough that the density shifts like a heartbeat with every exhale. Bai Shun’s voice joins them, and Yao Luan says them quieter, not wanting to yell directly into his ear. There’s snow in Bai Shun’s hair, and probably his own hair.
Five.
It has to be now, Yao Luan realizes.
This is it.
He loosens his arms from around Bai Shun’s waist, and his boyfriend clings to one hand, refusing to let it go. That’s alright. He only needs his other hand.
Four.
When Yao Luan gets down on one knee, several people around him gasp and back up. He feels their phone cameras turn to face him, instead of the rest of the crowd. Someone squeals in delight, and someone else shushes them, and it’s the scolding that catches his boyfriend’s attention.
Three.
Yao Luan’s heart beats like a wardrum inside his chest. Like a tiger throwing itself against the cage of his ribs. His mouth is dry, hands half-numb with static crawling under his skin, and Bai Shun looks so beautiful.
Yao Luan wants Bai Shun to keep looking at him like that, for the rest of his life.
Two.
Their eyes lock.
Bai Shun’s white lashes widen, mouth going all soft and surprised. He is haloed by city lights refracting through falling crystals. He can almost see the rainbow glint in each snowflake, fractaling out like glass prisms clinging.
Yao Luan offers the box. Offers the ring inside.
He takes the leap.
One.
Bai Shun’s wide eyes reflect the fireworks launching around them, chrysanthemums of color blooming and showering from above. Shifting glows change the highlights over his cheeks and nose.
In the boom of explosions and the shrieks of cheers, Yao Luan can’t hear his answer, but he can read the shape of his mouth moving even beyond the ringing of his own ears and the deafening roar of the crowd.
Yes.
Confetti drifts in a shimmering shower around them, mixing with snow. It, too, tangles in their hair as Bai Shun’s arms fling around Yao Luan’s shoulders. Chilled lips crash into his, and chilled fingers find his cheeks to keep him from moving, so Bai Shun can keep kissing him.
The small crowd around him hollers excitement, joining them in jumping and holding each other, congratulations and thrilling joy spilling out around them in a bright wave. Bai Shun pulls back only enough to slip the ring on - both of them fumbling from how hard their hands shake, but they manage.
The gold ring is beautiful, because Bai Shun is the one wearing it.
He usually wears white, but someday Yao Luan wants to see him wear red.
For luck.
For forever.
January 1st, 38 AC
12:01 AM