Archive of Our Own

“Yingxing, I think I love you,” Dan Feng confesses to the moon and stars. 

Under the hazy, silver glow of twilight, the High Elder’s sculpturesque features are tainted a pretty pink from the tips of his ears to the curve of his lips. 

Nestled together on the aging roof of an unused building in the Artisanship Commission, those words–whispered hoarsely from an uncharacteristically clumsy tongue–sound like a scream to Yingxing’s ringing ears. His gaze, previously mesmerized by Dan Feng’s reflection in his dwindling cup of Baijiu, flickers over the ordinarily stoic man’s gleaming eyes.

Yingxing’s own lips, chapped and worn from years of worrying down on them, slip into a thinly veiled frown.  

Not this again. 

Dan Feng’s long and elegant fingers are wrapped tightly about his cup–the colorless liquid inside bubbling and snapping in response to the excited hum of his Cloudhymn. Wordlessly, Yingxing sets his own glass down and rests his hand over Dan Feng’s to prevent what remains from spilling over both of them.

Beneath Yingxing’s palm, one that has grown stiff and numb from decades of working with his hands, Dan Feng’s normally frigid skin feels lukewarm.   

“You’re drunk,” Yingxing levels. Unlike Dan Feng’s voice which, for once, sounds wistful and coy instead of agitated and exhausted, Yingxing’s own only seems to grow rougher and deeper with every year that passes.

“So try thinking again– harder this time.” He’s far too sober for this right now.  

Yingxing can feel the exact moment Dan Feng’s mood sours when the other’s tail slams down against the roof. The old tiles wobble and tremble from the impact, clanking together like wind chimes caught in a hurricane. But Yingxing knows they won’t come loose. He had helped build this roof over a decade ago. 

“I am not drunk,” Dan Feng snarls despite the fact that his lips are plump and wet from the alcohol buzzing through his veins. 

When Dan Feng looks at Yingxing it's through foggy, half-lidded eyes that are glossy at the corners. The rosy blush on his cheeks only serves to make his already impossibly beautiful face all the more enchanting. When his eyes grow heavier, his long lashes dust over the puffy and damp rims of his brilliant eyes.  Despite all of his pompous pride, Dan Feng still somehow manages to look utterly radiant beneath the moonlight. 

It’s irritating, really. How can one person be so ethereal that even the night sky pales in comparison? 

Yingxing sighs, wrestling the cup from Dan Feng’s long claws and downing it in a single sip–much to Dan Feng’s dismay as the other’s expression falls into one of heartbreak and confusion. 

“Yes, you are, Xiao-Feng.” 

Dejected, Dan Feng flops gracelessly against Yingxing’s side. His lips pull into a firm pout in distaste for the nickname, but he doesn’t snap at it like he normally would. Instead, he curls his tail around Yingxing’s waist possessively and leans in closer. 

The savory aroma of Baijiu is thick on Dan Feng’s breath and sticks to his clothes like cologne. 

Yingxing flings his arm over Dan Feng’s shoulders, pulling him close in an attempt to steady him. 

Dan Feng has always been a lightweight. There’s a reason he only drinks around a few select people, and Yingxing just so happens to be his favorite victim of choice. Meanwhile, Yingxing’s high tolerance continuously rears its ugly head to bite him in the ass whenever they go drinking. Moments like this would be so much easier to stomach if he were actually drunk. 

“A-Ying.”  

Yingxing’s stupid heart burns as he runs his hands through long, silky strands of Dan Feng’s hair. They’re slick and soft against his calloused fingers, and glide over them like a gentle breeze nipping at the upright buds of late-blooming flowers. 

This isn’t the first time Dan Feng has confessed to him in a drunken stupor, which are often spurred on whenever the High Elder is pissed off enough to level an entire planet and needs to be pacified for the safety of the Luofu. And pacifying him has always been Yingxing’s job because he’s the only one willing and able to deal with Dan Feng when he’s kicking up storms and tearing apart the remains of Scalegorge. 

The first time it had happened, when Yingxing was a much younger man, his idealistic teenage heart had sputtered in his chest and his lungs had caught fire with the rush of heat that soared up from the depths of his stomach. But, even back then–when his affection for Dan Feng had been fiery and passionate puppy love–he still had enough sense to bite his tongue and dismiss the other’s confession as drunken nonsense because that was easier to swallow than the truth he’s painfully aware of.

And swallow it he still does. Like a handful of rusted nails and the tip of a soldering iron. It stings just as sharp as the chain around his neck–tucked beneath the layers of his heavy coat, and feels just as heavy as the ring dangling from it.

So Yingxing only hums in response to the tender and heartfelt call of his name. 

“I’ve thought about it again, harder , and I still think I love you,” Dan Feng says, once more, without any hesitation. 

Dan Feng has always been shit when it comes to feelings, but Yingxing’s track record isn’t exactly fantastic either. Actually, it might even be worse.  

But Yingxing does know a few things that are absolutely certain. 

Loving someone isn’t easy. Loving Dan Feng is even harder. And, loving the Luofu’s High Elder is nearly impossible. In all of his miserably short life, the most difficult thing Yingxing has ever done is admit to himself that he’s in love with Dan Feng. That he’s been in love with Dan Feng. And that he will always be in love with Dan Feng. 

But he can’t. 

He can’t love Dan Feng. 

Yingxing is a filthy mortal, Dan Feng might as well be an exalted God compared to him. When his wrinkles have wrinkles and the last strand of his silver hair turns a dull gray, Dan Feng will still look exactly how does right now. Even if Yingxing lives long enough to see the children of today morph into the soldiers of tomorrow, Dan Feng will still outlive him at least a dozen times over. 

He’s never cursed his short life–never cursed being born with a ticking clock anchored to his limbs. He’ll burn brighter than any star and go out in a flame of eternal glory by leaving his mark upon the Luofu for generations to come. But that doesn’t change the fact that his life will never be anything more than a blip in Dan Feng’s far longer one. 

Dan Feng will live for centuries after Yingxing is dead and gone. 

It’s the cruel truth. One that sears hotter than his forge and colder than the sea’s luminescent depths.

And Yingxing can’t make Dan Feng carry the death of his star crossed lover for a span of time so long that it’s impossible for the craftsman to imagine. 

Dan Feng has never handled grief well–he’s never really handled any emotion well. Yingxing can’t and won’t let the love he feels for him become a bullet to his head. 

Or, at least, he’ll try for as long as he can muffle the sobs of his pitiful heart because he’s never handled emotions well either.  

“Tell you what,” Yingxing begins, voice thick and deep. Against his shoulder he can feel Dan Feng’s body rumble softly as he purrs into his chest. “If you still think that when you’re sober, we can talk.” 

For better or for worse, he won’t. Dan Feng never does. 

When the tides of dawn wash away the sands of night, this confession will drown beneath them. But making this pointless promise always helps Yingxing feel a little less guilty for never responding to Dan Feng’s sincere feelings. 

“Fine,” Dan Feng growls, but doesn’t move from where he’s turned Yingxing into his makeshift bed. “However; you will swear it to me in blood. I will accept nothing less.” Without waiting for a response, Dan Feng effortlessly tears open his thumb with his elongated fangs. 

If Dan Feng weren’t this dramatic when sober, Yingxing’s eyes would have rolled to the back of his head, but because he’s just as extreme when his head is clear, Yingxing doesn’t even blink. 

“Whatever you want, oh esteemed High Elder.” 

Shifting, Yingxing yanks a knife out of the pouch hanging from his belt. He can feel Dan Feng’s gaze as it burns into his knuckles. 

Twisting the knife over in his hand, he effortlessly slices through his palm. The skin is so hard and thick that he doesn’t even feel the blade when it percies through his flesh like paper. 

Putting the knife away, he reaches out with his uninjured hand to take one of Dan Feng’s far smaller ones within it. Smearing his index finger with their blood, he writes out his promise in bright crimson upon Dan Feng’s palm. 

“I, Yingxing, vow to you–Dan Feng–that if you still love me when you’re sober, we can have a conversation about it.” 

Pleased, the end of Dan Feng’s tail wags where it’s resting in Yingxing’s lap as he leans up to nuzzle against the craftsman's jaw. 

If Dan Feng weren’t a lethal and temperamental force of nature, it might have been cute. 

“Good,” Dan Feng purrs. “If you break your oath to me, I will drown you beneath the waves of Scalegorge.”

“Of course.” Yingxing does roll his eyes this time as he fiddles with Dan Feng’s hair. 

Oh, he’s well aware of the fact that Dan Feng is deathly serious. Luckily for him, the other never actually remembers the conversations they have when he’s drunk. So, just as all of the others, Dan Feng’s confession and threat will be lost to the morning sun. 

Yingxing’s chest aches thinking about it–drowning would be a mercy compared to the agony of having to waterboard his heart every single time he hears the words he once dreamed of coming out of Dan Feng’s mouth. 

Five days: Yingxing thinks as he yanks on a pair of soot-covered pants and steps out of the shower.  

It’s been five days since his drunken escapades with Dan Feng, and the other hasn’t breathed a single word of it–even if he’s been acting strange. Then again, this is Dan Feng, despite the authority he holds, he has the social skills of a rabid dog. So strange isn’t really that unusual for him. 

Grabbing a towel, Yingxing hastily wipes dry the ring hanging from his neck before he drapes it over his shoulders without bothering to run it down his wet torso or dripping hair. 

His shoulders are still sore from the extra work he’s been saddled with over the past few months. A direct result of losing talented individuals to a war that feels as if it will never end. He can’t complain when it means he was lucky enough to survive the Luofu’s most recent scuffle with the Abominations of Abundance. But he’s not getting any younger, and his body doesn’t bounce back quite like it used to. And today is destined to be another all-nighter. 

Rubbing his face into the harsh fabric of the towel, he shoves open the bathroom door, leaving a trail of puddles in his wake that he couldn’t care less about. There’s little more than a few feet between the hall and the wooden staircase leading downstairs into his forge. And every single one of those steps creaks as he clammers down them. 

He could fix them. Easily. 

He just hasn’t bothered to because their ungodly wails serve as a makeshift doorbell whenever uninvited guests try to sneak into his home. And by uninvited guests, he means Dan Feng–the other always lets himself in as if he owns the place. To his credit, this attitude isn’t limited to only Yingxing’s forge, Dan Feng treats every single establishment on the Luofu as if he has some divine right to waltz in whenever he desires.

When his feet finally hit the stone floor below, Yingxing makes some effort to dry himself off. Tugging the towel along his scarred and bruised skin–its fibers catching on old scars and burns that have grown white with age. He can hardly feel its touch, but he can, at least, still feel the heat of the early morning sun as it pours in through the open walls of the forge. 

It’s early enough that the streets are quiet, and the Luofu is still. 

Wandering over to his workbench, he throws the towel down amongst the piles of blueprints held down by a collection of old nails. Beside it, the wobbly table that serves more as a storage unit than an actual functional surface, is a mess hotter than the artificial sun warming his bones. Hammers, knives, tongs, planks of wood–you name it, it’s somewhere in the endless abyss of that table. 

That includes, as well, an imprint of soot and ash where he Yingxing had passed out on an anvil last night. 

He has one guess as to how he ended up waking up in his bed this morning, but he chooses to pointedly ignore it because he has shit to do and doesn’t have time to waste on the High Elder’s bizarre whims–especially as of late. 

So he won’t. He’ll just carry on with his work. 

Grabbing a fire stoker from the floor, he turns to face the fire pit and– 

Well, he doesn’t want to admit that he screams, but he screams as the fire stoker clatters to the ground. 

In his defense, Yingxing does compose himself startlingly fast with a sharp sigh as the telltale pang of a migraine begins to assault his head. Carding his fingers through his long hair, he stares down at what greets him.  

A pile of fish. There’s a pile of dead fish… in his fire pit. 

“This is getting ridiculous,” Yingxing groans. 

The first day, it had been a small collection of carefully curated seashells. That had been tolerable enough, he could easily use them to make something. The day after, a brand new hammer had found its way into his toolbox–a welcome addition given the poor condition of his former one. Then followed a luxurious bundle of pine wood. Yesterday, it had been a shiny, but overall worthless, rock from the ocean floor.  

And today… Today there is a  pile of dead fish stacked in front of him. All of them are still so raw and fresh that their innards and scales are dripping and oozing into the leftover wood in the fire pit. 

He had missed dinner and lunch and… breakfast yesterday, but nothing about this scene makes him feel even remotely hungry. 

Tugging on his necklace, he quickly tosses the ring behind his back. 

“Dan Feng,” Yingxing calls. “I know you’re here, come out.” 

As much as he wants to say this is the strangest thing Dan Feng has ever done, it's unfortunately not. The man’s understanding of acceptable (human) societal norms is appallingly shallow for someone who scoffs when asked what the hell a sphenoid is. 

On cue, Dan Feng slinks in from behind the support beam he had been lingering around. His tail drags shamefully behind him and his pointed ears curve downwards where they’re partially hidden by his hair–gaze shifting to the fish and then back to Yingxing.  

Dan Feng looks like a cat that’s been caught tearing apart his master’s nicest piece of furniture. Yingxing would know, he had seen the look of shame on Snowmoon’s face after he had shredded Jing Yuan’s favorite couch. 

“If they are not up to your standards, I can collect specimens from another species that may better align with your palette.” Despite everything, Dan Feng still holds his head high and his back straight–looking every bit the perfect picture of grace and poise despite the absurdity of the situation.   

“What, exactly, do you think I enjoy?” Yingxing is well aware that that isn’t what he should be focusing on, but he’s still trying to decide if he’s offended by the fact that he’s known this man for decades and Dan Feng is somehow convinced he would be delighted to receive a pile of raw fish, or exasperated by the fact that, yes, Dan Feng had actually taken time to think about what he was doing… and decided it was a good idea anyway.  

Without pause, Dan Feng answers as if Yingxing is asking him about something as mundane as the weather. 

“You prefer savory dishes, especially those containing salt. You have a preference for meat, and a disdain for sweets. You also have a bad habit of substituting coffee for meals, of which I do not approve, and I highly suggest you cease doing.” 

Yingxing doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he really should have seen that coming.

“Forget I even asked.” Yingxing waves his hand. “I don’t want fish, Dan Feng–dead or alive, and especially not in my fire pit.” He levels his gaze with that of the Luofu’s all-powerful High Elder whose brows wrinkle in confusion at his words as if he’s just said the most absurd thing he possibly could have. 

“If you dislike fish, I will catch you something else. You have been losing weight as of late, and I won’t allow you to neglect your health any further.” 

Yeah, his migraine is getting worse by the second. 

“I don’t dislike fish.” Dan Feng isn’t wrong, Yingxing has been losing weight. All of the commissions he’s had dumped on him these past few months have taken a toll on his health, and he’s never been good at taking care of himself to begin with. He’s always been the type to get lost in his work. 

Anyway, that’s not what’s important here. 

“Never mind that, I don’t need or want you to catch anything for me in the first place.” 

Dan Feng frowns. “I find your words unacceptable. I will be the one to provide you with everything you may need.” 

Yingxing thinks he’s going to lose his mind. He might even start losing his hair at the rate this is going. He can’t believe he’s starting to miss the days when Dan Feng had braided seaweed into his locks and replaced his soap with fish guts because ‘they’re good for the skin’. 

“Dan Feng, I’ve survived this long on my own. I assure you I’m perfectly capable of providing for myself.”   

Wrong answer. 

With a deep growl, Dan Feng’s lips curl back to reveal the tips of his sharp canines. If looks could kill, Yingxing would have dropped dead right then and there. Fortunately, despite the rage boiling in the depths of Dan Feng’s eyes, they can’t. 

“All right,” Yingxing huffs. “Are you gonna tell me what the hell your problem has been these past five days or am I just supposed to start guessing?”

That growl turns from angry to something downright primal and furious. The fur on the back of Dan Feng’s tail goes upright and rigid, and his scales shimmer dangerously beneath the sun’s nosy touch. 

Anyone else would have realized how majorly they fucked up and leapt through the windows in an attempt to save their sorry life, but Yingxing’s sense of self-preservation has always been ass. So he just stands there, staring into the eyes of a man capable of destroying entire armies with a flick of his wrist. 

“Have you forgotten the vow you made to me, Yingxing?” Dan Feng’s voice is low and minacious. 

Yingxing’s eyebrows quirk up in confusion as his forehead scrunches in thought. 

“Evidently,” Yingxing admits after a hard whack from Dan Feng’s tail against the ground sends a handful of tools tumbling over the edge of his cluttered table.  

“I’m courting you,” Dan Feng deadpans. 

The response is so quick–as if it were as natural as breathing to the Vidyadhara–that Yingxing feels like he’s just been hit by a speeding starskiff. 

“You’re… what?” Yingxing’s voice cracks. 

“You swore an oath to me: If I still harbor love for you when I’m sober, an intimate relationship between us could be discussed.” Dan Feng’s tail snaps in agitation, and the look on his face makes it apparent that he thinks this is the stupidest question Yingxing has ever asked him in his life. Which is saying something because he thinks a lot of Yingxing’s questions are stupid. 

“I am sober, and I still maintain such feelings for you. Therefore, I am here to make you my mate,” Dan Feng adds. 

This… this is not what having a discussion means. 

Yingxing isn’t sure what’s going to kill him first: old age, his worsening migraine, or Dan Feng’s absolutely ludicrous audacity. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Yingxing lets out a long sigh that does nothing to muffle the sound of Dan Feng’s tail against the stone or the growl still rumbling in the man’s throat. 

Processing the fact that, for once in their lives, Dan Feng actually remembers their drunken conversation this time around is made marginally more difficult with the stench of fish carcesses filling the air all around them. 

“Dan Feng.” Yingxing’s arms cross in front of his chest as he tries to maintain eye contact with the High Elder. “I said we could talk about it.” He carefully enunciates each syllable, observing the frown on Dan Feng’s lips as it grows deeper with every word. 

“Yes,” Dan Feng snarls, tearing his gaze away from Yingxing to glare pointedly at the collection of Aeons’ knows what on the craftsman’s workbench. “We are speaking about it. Right now.” Despite his curt words and harsh tone, there’s a hint of hurt tucked away in Dan Feng’s eyes.

“I fail to see any conflict here–aside from the fact that you appear to have forgotten your vow to me. Yingxing, need I remind you that I swore to drown you if you went back on your word.” 

Right–so it won’t be old age, his migraine, or Dan Feng’s audacity that will kill Yingxing–it will be the raging waters of Scalegorge that get to claim the grand prize. 

“I didn’t forget,” Yingxing breathes through clenched teeth. It’s not a lie. He hadn’t, but he had also assumed that Dan Feng would forget about it. 

Or, perhaps, he had hoped he would.

“Then there should be no further need for discussion.” Dan Feng cracks his tail like a whip against the air and the sound it makes has the entire forge creaking in dismay. It’s the first time during this conversation that he’s raised his voice. Though not shouting, it’s loud enough that his words leak out through the open walls and bleed into the street beyond. 

Anger is easier to display than heartbreak and grief, and that anger has always kept Dan Feng safe. From the armies that march on the Luofu to the snide remarks of the preceptors, and everything beyond, rage acts as his sword and shield. 

Yingxing, contrary to popular (Dan Feng’s) belief, isn’t an idiot. Dan Feng isn’t easy to read when he doesn’t want to be known, but the thing about loving someone is that you do know them. And so Yingxing knows, right now, that he’s hurting Dan Feng–that his hesitation is like taking a burning knife to the other’s frigid skin. 

He hates seeing Dan Feng angry because an angry Dan Feng is a terrified and upset Dan Feng. It’s not who he really is–it’s not what he’s really feeling, but the thing about being the High Elder is that Dan Feng isn’t allowed to be afraid or broken, and he still hasn’t learned that he doesn’t need to play God around Yingxing.  

“Dan Feng,” Yingxing tries again, gentler this time. “You know very well that this isn’t such a simple thing, or a decision that you can make–on your own–for the both of us.” 

“It is,” Dan Feng insists, lifting his head once more to gaze into Yingxing’s eyes. Difficult doesn’t even scratch the surface when it comes to him. “I love you, Yingxing.” 

And, there it is, spoken from Dan Feng’s lips completely sober and without an ounce of doubt in his voice or reluctance in his eyes. 

Yingxing sucks in the breath that tries to flee from his rough lips, swallowing it down alongside all of the nerves and agony bubbling in the back of his throat. He inhales to smoother the awful drum of his desperate heart because he knows Dan Feng can hear it. He knows its unnatural rhythm and strained pumps serve as an answer on their own–one that Yingxing is too afraid to say out loud because he knows how this will end. 

He’s always known this would be a difficult conversation to have when time finally caught up to them. He also knew that, despite how much he’s tried to run for it, it was inevitable. 

He’s loved Dan Feng for decades, and Dan Feng has loved him back for just as long. He knows. He’s always known. But, right now, Yingxing feels far more like crying than laughing.  

Every second that slips away from them without Yingxing responding in kind, is just as painful for Yingxing himself as it is for Dan Feng. 

“Dan Feng.” There’s no amount of love and gentleness in the world that could soften the blow Yingxing is choking on as he vomits out the words he doesn’t want to say, but needs to regardless. “You and I–”

Yingxing is right, no amount of compassion could soften the blow–and that includes the one that follows as Dan Feng’s bright eyes flash hotter and more brilliant than the sun hanging overhead. 

Yingxing doesn’t have time to brace himself as he feels the ground beneath his feet tremble while the skies above begin to darken. The wind wails in agony as colorful leaves are stripped from the trees surrounding the workshop and the tiles of the nearby rooftops are torn away. 

A second later, water swells in front of Dan Feng–growing and growing until a tidal wave bursts into life before him. With white hot anger, the violent waters slam into the earth and the pillars holding up the forge, making them quake and scream. They swallow up the cluttered table and devour the messy workbench as they rush out from the forge and into the streets beyond–hurling Yingxing out of his own home and onto the pavement, just narrowly missing a few onlookers who had gathered nearby when they overheard the pair arguing. 

Sopping wet and gasping for breath, Yingxing looks like a drowning rat where he’s kneeling in massive puddles and tiny rivers as the wave dissipates into the humid air. 

Spitting up, none too gracefully, a mouthful of salty water, Yingxing lifts his head in time to see Dan Feng stepping out of the forge. Their eyes meet, and for a moment Dan Feng’s mask falters. His pointed ears bend downwards, the radiant glow of his horns dampens, and his lips pull into a frown that is far more upset than angry. His jade irises, normally vivid and proud, are glossy and wet. 

“Dan Feng–” 

Dan Feng’s head lifts up at the sound of his name, and all of those raw, vulnerable emotions are once again sheltered within the walls of his growing rage. With one final snap of his tail, Dan Feng holds his head up high and strolls past Yingxing without a word. 

It’s well past midnight by the time the Cloud Knights have finished interrogating Yingxing about the hefty amount of property damage, the numerous near-drownings, and the so-called false declaration of war on their beloved ship. Apparently a few civilians had heard the bang of the wave slamming into the ground and assumed the denizens of Abundance were attacking. Oh–and the rain. The pouring rain that’s currently pelting down on the Luofu with vengeance. That’s his fault too (it kind of is, actually). Or so that’s what he gathered from how little he had actually listened to their drawn-out lecture.  

His head is still throbbing, his back feels like it’s about to split in half, and he’s still just as wet as he was when Dan Feng had left. Quite frankly, with the way things are going, Yingxing isn’t confident that he’ll ever be dry again. 

It’s a good thing his reputation is already so piss poor that it can’t get any worse. 

Running his thick fingers through his sopping wet hair, Yingxing gazes up at the dreadful clouds engulfing the whole of the Luofu. The moon is little more than a scar upon the otherwise dark and obscured sky glaring down at him, and there’s not a single star to be seen through the sheets of rain pouring over everything and anything. 

Rain isn’t a natural occurrence on the Luofu. There’s a strict and complex system that maintains the illusion of a natural sky and mild weather, and it rarely ever wavers… unless someone influences it. 

And Dan Feng is a monolith of a beast. The seas are at his beck and call, his hands can birth unfathomable storms with nothing more than the flutter of his eyes, and the moon falls beneath him like a lover. 

Yingxing doesn’t need to see Dan Feng to know that this torrential downpour is entirely his doing.  

He lets his hair fall. Sticky strands of it cling to his damp face and skin uncomfortably as Yingxing tugs the chain forward again and runs his thumb along the pattern of the ring. 

It’s always felt heavy, but never quite as heavy as it does right now, and there’s an added edge to it that he doesn’t recall it ever having before. 

He’s had more than a few hours to clear his head now, but he can hardly say that things are any less murky than he had been this morning. Truthfully, they might have gotten even muddier. 

Jing Yuan had stopped by in the middle of the Cloud Knights’ lecture to inform him that he had seen Dan Feng flying over to Scalegorge. As a dragon. Effectively terrifying every last citizen, and the soldiers meant to protect them, on the Luofu. Then, as the lieutenant stood beneath the safety of an umbrella far too sturdy to be normal, the little shit had the gall to ask him what he had done to piss Dan Feng off so badly. And, yeah, this is his fault, but that won’t stop Yingxing from being irritated about it. 

Shortly after, Baiheng had skipped over to him–completely heedless of the Cloud Knights’ distress–to tell him that Dan Feng is sulking (yeah, he knows–it’s pouring) and won’t even look at her. Oh, and that the Luofu had almost been destroyed because Baiheng had thought crying crocodile tears would get Dan Feng’s attention. It hadn’t worked on Dan Feng, but it sure as hell worked on Jingliu. 

Yingxing supposes, there’s no point in prolonging his execution anymore–unless he wants to bring the entire Luofu down with him (and he does, briefly, entertain that thought). Tossing the ring back over his shoulder, he doesn’t bother to grab a jacket or even put a shirt on knowing that he’s just going to end up even more waterlogged than he currently is, and trudges off towards Scalegorge like a body being hauled into the morgue. 

Dan Feng has always been a willful and argumentative person. When the two of them were younger, they weren't even able to be in the same room as one another without starting a brawl. Even so, Dan Feng had also always been the first person to defend him. Whenever someone would stick their nose up at him and mock him for being a short-life species, Dan Feng would demand they repent. There were times, before the general public had learned their lesson, when common thugs would harass Yingxing regularly, and, then too, Dan Feng had never hesitated to demolish them. He’s lost track of the sheer number of times he’s had to personally haul the esteemed High Elder off of common people and petty thieves. 

Thinking about it now, it’s been so long since Yingxing’s feelings of rivalry had morphed into friendship which had then morphed into love that he can’t actually remember when seeing Dan Feng had gone from pissing him off to making his heart skip a beat, and then, finally, to feeling as if his very soul itself is being ripped in half whenever they’re apart.  

Because… because, even when he had been nothing more than a delusional, prideful, and reckless teenager, Yingxing has always been aware of the fatal difference between himself and Dan Feng. Long before the flame within his heart had been lit, he knew that the two of them weren’t meant to be–regardless of their feelings. 

Not when allowing this love to bloom between them would be the cruelest thing he could do to both of them. Stifling his love for Dan Feng is borderline torture, but he’ll survive–allowing Dan Feng to love him in return might as well be a form of suicide for the Vidyadhara. 

The trek to Scalegorge feels agonizingly long and, by the time he gets there, Yingxing still hasn’t made up his mind. 

Stepping onto the slippery stone bridge that leads straight into the gapping waters that devour the ruins below, Yingxing is nothing more than a lone star fighting against the wind and rain in hopes of being gazed upon by the moon.  

Stopping at the very edge of the platform, where the mist is so thick he can’t see just how deep the snapping waves in front of him go, he gazes into the terrifying, watery abyss before him. The current hasn’t quite reached the top yet, but it consumes far more of this path than Yingxing recalls. 

He knows this area well. It’s where Dan Feng always goes when he wants to be alone–and alone usually means away from everyone but Yingxing. After all, only Yingxing himself is actually stupid enough to walk into the wide and hungry maws of the beast that rules over this ancient sea. 

“Dan Feng!” Yingxing calls above the rain. 

An answer comes in the form of a sudden and violent tempest that nearly sends him flying back onto his rear. Stumbling gracelessly, Yingxing exhales through his nose and shoves his drenched bangs out of his eyes just to make sure the full extent of his glare can be seen by the water licking at his feet. 

“Stop sulking, and get your ass up here before you sink the entire ship.” 

Yingxing wouldn’t actually be surprised if that is his goal. Dan Feng is many things, and dramatic is at the very top of that list. 

Slowly, bubbles begin to fizzle on the foggy waves, growing in volume until they explode. A dragon tears through the stormy waters–sending tsunamis towards the aged platform.  

Dan Feng’s eyes are a bright and piercing teal. In the darkness, they glow when they land on Yingxing with a complicated mix of emotions that’s far more difficult to read than Yingxing would like to admit. 

Compared to him, Dan Feng’s dragon form is massive. He towers over Yingxing and every building in the Luofu. Even with half of his body still submerged beneath the waves, he stands taller than the stone pillars littering the area. One of his fangs is the size of Yingxing’s entire body, and his claws are even larger. 

If Yingxing had more sense than pride, the first thought in his head wouldn’t be, Aeons he’s gorgeous. Unfortunately, Yingxing has never really been the type to think with his head. 

“Are you just going to hover there menacingly or are we actually going to talk this time?” Yingxing, refusing to back down, crosses his arms in front of his chest.   

When Dan Feng doesn’t budge, Yingxing sighs. 

Temperamental bastard.

“What do you want from me, then?” Yingxing finally snaps, his patience reaching its utmost limit.

Dreadfully and painfully human against the swelling waves and thick rains, Yingxing throws his arms wide open. The violent gales sputtering around them are nearly sharp enough to slice through his skin, and the sudden chill nearly freezes him down to his very bones. But they’re nothing in comparison to the gleam in Dan Feng’s eyes as they lower to meet his own. 

“Do you want me on my knees? Will you speak to me if I drop down and beg for your forgiveness, oh great and powerful Imbibitor Lunae? Would you spare this stupid mortal a word if I threw myself into the water right now and choked on it, oh God of the ancient sea? Go ahead, oh High Elder of the Luofu, keep your promise and drown me yourself!” Yingxing shouts, his voice hoarse as it fights against the storm raging above and the salt water racing down his throat. 

Dan Feng snarls, low and dangerous. 

Yingxing laughs. 

“That’s not what you want, is it?” He tastes iron on his tongue and copper in his lungs. “Because you’re Dan Feng, not the Imbibitor Lunae or High Elder. I know who you really are beneath your rage. I know you better than anyone else ever can or will.” Yingxing’s arms drop back down to his side, listless and tired. 

“And so, I know you’re hurting and I know you’re afraid. It’s pointless to pretend you’re something you’re not. Don’t hide from me, face your humanity if you truly love me.” He’s too old and too tired to keep shoving his feelings down again and again. “I won’t run anymore.”   

Yingxing pants, water dripping down his face and running along his spine. His hair is plastered against his damp skin, and all he can see through the rain are Dan Feng’s eyes and horns. 

“A-Feng,” Yingxing chokes. “I would walk through the fires of Hell to deliver my heart to you. You know I love you, but you also know that nothing good could ever come from us.”

A muffled whine escapes Dan Feng’s jaws, and he lowers his massive head. Gingerly, he presses his snout against Yingxing’s torso, feeling the erratic drum of the other man’s heart against his slick scales. 

Yingxing lifts his arms to run his fingers through the beast’s drenched and tacky fur.      

Beneath his touch, those shimmering scales morph into skin as the grand and powerful dragon slowly dissipates into the rain. In its place, Dan Feng stands. Wet and miserable, with his forehead leaning into Yingxing’s chest and his fingers gripping onto the fabric of the craftsman’s pants. 

“I don’t care,” Dan Feng whispers into the meager space between them, drinking in Yingxing’s warmth. “Nothing good has ever come from me–nothing except this love I have for you. And not even the Aeons themselves can take that from me.” His lips curl into a smile that’s half snarl and half laugh. “Compared to them, Yingxing, you are but a fleeting star. You will never possess the strength to smother this heart that beats for you.”  

Yingxing wraps his arms around Dan Feng tighter. “I know.” Of course he does. Dan Feng never does anything halfheartedly. He loves with the whole of his being, and nothing Yingxing can say will ever change that. 

Selfishly, he doesn’t want to change that either. 

He’s starting to wear down. 

The walls Yingxing has built around his heart are beginning to decay and rot from the inside out. The bricks are crumbling against his fingertips, and weeds are growing in the cracks. He wants this just as much as Dan Feng does.  

For all they are different, they are also the same. 

“But even if a God can’t, time can and will,” Yingxing admits. “I can’t stand the thought of leaving you behind. I don’t want this love to haunt you for eternity.”  

“Let it haunt me.” Dan Feng’s tail wraps around Yingxing’s waist, tight and crushing, as if he expects the man to pull away–to turn around, and never look at him again. “I won’t allow you, or I, to waste any more time. I want all of the years you have left, I’ve allowed far too many to slip through my claws as is.” 

A part of Yingxing has always known, in the depths of his horrid heart, that Dan Feng has never once forgotten his drunken confessions or the promises he’s made in response to them. With the moon as their only witness, they could both pretend those nights never happened come morning–both of them could tuck those heartfelt words into the depths of their souls and hide from them. 

Except, something always has to give. Dan Feng’s reason snaps before his love wanes and Yingxing’s fear crumbles away long before his affections could ever begin to waver.  

Yingxing isn’t the only one who never thinks with his head.   

Dan Feng pulls away just enough to look Yingxing in the eyes. “Love me, now , and live forever within my heart–or die here with the remnants of my humanity.” 

Yingxing sighs, his breath warm against Dan Feng’s frigid and wet skin. 

Always dramatic. 

Grabbing Dan Feng’s face, Yingxing cards his hands through the other’s hair and none too gently pulls Dan Feng flush against him. He kisses him feverishly–rough passion and undaunted desperation ingrained in every touch. Yingxing kisses him until his heart throbs and Dan Feng’s lips are numb against his own. Until he’s so cold and damp that he can no longer feel his own fingers. 

“Don’t come to regret this when I’m a fossil and you still look the same as you do right now.” 

Dan Feng smiles cruelly into the ghost of their kiss. “I won’t. You’re mine– forever. ” 

Dan Feng’s forehead feels like a block of ice against Yingxing’s burning skin. The fleeting reprieve it grants him from his suffering is so alluring that he finds himself leaning into that trained and thoughtful touch. With the familiar and comforting chill of the High Elder’s Cloudhymn slithering through his aching bones, Yingxing might have even considered calling Dan Feng his savior… except for the fact that Dan Feng is the entire reason he’s in this situation in the first place.

And by situation, Yingxing means being sick as a dog in his bed with Dan Feng gleefully straddling his hips as he plays nurse. While Dan Feng is clearly having the time of his life (Yingxing’s happy for him, really ), he’s drenched in sweat, fighting off random shivers, more achy than usual, and utterly miserable. Even the light flooding in through the window beside his bed (the one Dan Feng had flung open because. ‘Sunlight is good for the body’) seems far too much to his ailing senses. 

“You have a fever,” Dan Feng says. The words are spoken directly against Yingxing’s boiling skin as if he’s just made some metamorphic discovery instead of stating the obvious. 

“I’m aware,” Yingxing groans, too exhausted to swat Dan Feng’s face away from his own. “Can’t imagine whose fault that is.” The roll of his eyes can be heard in the tone of his voice. 

Dan Feng lifts his head up from where it’s resting against Yingxing’s forehead. There’s a look of smug satisfaction plastered all over his face as his lips tug upwards into a smirk he doesn’t bother hiding. Behind him, Dan Feng’s long tail is pointed upwards and wagging proudly. 

It’s painfully evident that he doesn’t feel an ounce of remorse for Yingxing. 

On the bright side, at least the constant wave of his tail kicks up a nice breeze that helps fight off the heat gripping Yingxing’s entire body. 

Feigning innocence (poorly), Dan Feng gathers up Yingxing’s significantly larger hands within his palms. He fiddles with them for a moment before settling on rubbing over the other’s calloused knuckles with his nimble fingers. With his long, silky hair brushing over Yingxing’s bare and battered arms, Dan Feng presses a soft kiss against each of the craftsman’s fingers.    

“You should know better than to stay out, shirtless , in a storm.” Dan Feng’s tail sways in time with the amused hum of his voice. 

“Asshole.” Yingxing flops back down against his pitifully flat pillows and sticky, gray sheets. Pressed into his back, his mattress feels more like a boulder than a bed. He’s convinced his eye bags have bags of their own and his aches have aches of their own. And regardless of how much of this is actually Dan Feng’s fault, he’s going to blame the other man for this for the rest of his miserable life. 

The bed creaks and the blankets crinkle as Dan Feng lets go of his hands and shamelessly lays down on top of the sick man–using Yingxing’s chest as a pillow. 

Yingxing is far too prideful to admit that the pressure of Dan Feng’s body on his own is soothing, as is the chill that seeps into his bones where the other’s skin makes contact with his own. 

“You need to rest,” Dan Feng purrs as he playfully drags the tip of a claw up and down Yingxing’s chest. “Doctor’s orders.” 

The last time Dan Feng had tended to him, he told Yingxing that he should try to avoid stress. 

This is most certainly not avoiding stress. 

“Last time I checked, doctors don’t usually lay on top of their patients.” Or flirt with them.  

Despite his words, Yingxing still lazily rests his arms on Dan Feng’s waist. It always shocks him, no matter how many times he holds Dan Feng, just how small and lithe the other feels when wrapped up in his far more muscular arms. 

Enjoying every single second of this, Dan Feng’s tail wags faster.  

“This doctor has to make sure his patient doesn’t try to run away again.” 

Perhaps Dan Feng wouldn’t be hovering over him if Yingxing hadn’t tried to sneak downstairs behind his back when he had gone to make tea this morning. 

Admittedly, Dan Feng maybe had a little too much fun shoving Yingxing back into bed after catching him. 

Yingxing stares at the other man. “This humble craftsman has to make a living, his boyfriend has luxurious taste.” 

Humble is not a word anyone (including Yingxing himself) would use to describe Yingxing, but he’s sick enough right now that he has no problem stooping down to Dan Feng’s childish level of pettiness. 

“ Mate,” Dan Feng corrects with a low growl that rumbles against Yingxing’s chest. 

To Yingxing, there’s little difference between the two words other than the fact that mate is a far more embarrassing word to utter out loud. To Dan Feng; however, the difference is staggering and he’s both stubborn and insistent about it. Yingxing has no doubt the other will take the time to kindly lecture him about the importance of referring to him as his mate, but, right now, he’s thankfully merciful enough not to launch into a rant about Vidyadhara customs. 

“All right, all right, mate.” Yingxing waves his hand weakly. For once in his life, he doesn’t have the energy to argue. 

Dan Feng’s tail wags harder and he adjusts himself in order to press his palm against Yingxing’s chest, eagerly nuzzling into the taller man’s jaw. 

Yingxing is really starting to think that he ought to get a book about Vidyadhara behavior and biology because why the hell does an overgrown lizard act more like Jing Yuan’s cat than any snake he’s seen in his life? 

“Good,” Dan Feng purrs. “And, you should retire. I suspect you are of age for that. I am more than capable of taking care of you.” 

They’ve only officially been together for roughly 24 hours and Dan Feng has already planned out their future–complete with notes and an extensive timeline. He’s probably gone as far as to plan out their future’s future as well. Is Yingxing surprised? No. Not at all.  

Wrinkling his brows, Yingxing runs his hands sluggishly up and down Dan Feng’s back. “Nice try, but I’m not that old yet.” 

Frowning, Dan Feng places his head against Yingxing’s chest again. Against his ear, he can hear the thump of the other man’s heart as it beats within his rib cage. It’s always been one of his favorite sounds. 

Finally lowering his tail, Dan Feng coils the appendage possessively around Yingxing’s legs, further pinning the other man in place. 

“I am aware…” Dan Feng mumbles. “Yet, I don’t want to waste what little time we have together. If not for my obligations, I would take you far away from here–far away from everyone and everything, and keep you all to myself.” 

Yingxing shifts onto his elbows in order to lean down and kiss the top of Dan Feng’s head. 

“Stop trying to put me in an early grave–we’ve still got plenty of time.” To him. He’s not ignorant of the fact that his plenty is Dan Feng’s fleeting. 

Dan Feng whines faintly against his chest. He wouldn’t be caught dead acting like this in front of anyone else, but, before Yingxing, he acts like a minister’s spoiled wife. 

Softly, Yingxing runs his fingers through Dan Feng’s hair. He knows it hurts. It hurts him to think about it, so it must be unbearable for Dan Feng. It’s what made him so hesitant to face his feelings in the first place. Even now, a small part of him believes that he did the wrong thing–that he shouldn’t have accepted Dan Feng’s love, but he doesn’t have the luxury of time to mull it over. Whatever remains of his life, he owes to Dan Feng–not to the doubts ruminating in the back of his mind. 

Right, time is something he can no longer afford to waste.

Pausing his caress, Yingxing wraps his fingers over the ring he’s worn around his neck since he was a teenager. Tugging on the chain holding it there, the delicate metal snaps, and tiny links scatter across the bed. 

“Lift up your head, A-Feng.” Yingxing’s voice is soft, its sweet melody enough to make the Vidyadhara’s pointed ears twitch. 

Obediently, Dan Feng picks up his head to look at him. 

Pulling his arm away from the other’s body, Yingxing plucks Dan Feng’s hand from his heart–carefully massaging his knuckles to make him splay out his claws. Even with his clumsy fingers, Yingxing is still able to easily slide the ring onto Dan Feng’s ring finger. 

It’s a perfect fit. 

Dan Feng’s gaze flickers down to it curiously. 

His eyes light up when they catch the magnificent shimmer of the three gemstones embedded into the band. Dan Feng has never had an interest in such things, at least not until Yingxing came into his life. And so he knows, from listening to the craftsman ramble while chipping away at countless projects, what they are.

One of them is a breathtaking shade of crimson–darker than even the thickest blood: Red Beryl. The second is a brilliant shade of blue more vivid than Scalegorge’s vibrant waters: Benitoite. The two are nestled side by side on the top of the band. The final, is a small jade the color of Dan Feng’s own eyes tucked away in the center back. 

Between them is a dragon, its jaws open to swallow the red beryl and benitoite while its tail curls protectively around the jade. Opposite of it is a blade. Its tip is pointed towards the pair of gemstones while its hilt faces the lone one at the back. 

When Dan Feng flexes his finger, he can faintly feel the outline of their names where they’ve been painstakingly etched into the inside of the platinum band.   

“It’s beautiful, A-Ying.” The craftsmanship is divine. Yingxing’s standards have always been higher than the tallest peak on the Luofu, and his work is oftentimes utterly flawless. This ring; however, is somehow even more breathtaking than anything else Dan Feng has ever laid his eyes upon. “What is it?” 

Yingxing shrugs. “A ring.”

Dan Feng scowls at him for the obvious answer. 

Patting Dan Feng on the head playfully, a smile slips onto Yingxing’s lips. “A gift from me to you. I created it to… be a physical manifestation of my commitment to you.” 

At that, Dan Feng’s ears perk up and he pulls his gaze away from the ring to look at Yingxing. 

Yingxing can feel a heat that has nothing to do with his fever nipping at the back of his neck as he turns his eyes away from Dan Feng. “Just consider it another vow. One I won’t break. With it, I promise to give you the rest of my present and the entirety of my future.”  

“Yingxing.” Dan Feng pushes himself up onto his elbows to get a better look at the craftsman. “How long have you had this?” 

If he hadn’t been embarrassed before, he sure as hell is now. Dan Fen’s bony elbows digging into his chest are not doing him any favors either. 

Clearing his throat, Yingxing lowers his voice. “Since I was 18.” Aeons admitting that is harder than shouting at Dan Feng in the rain when the other man was ready to drown him. “For the record, those gemstones are rare as hell, and it took me over a year to make so you better take care of it.”  

Dan Feng would have known that without being told, but he saves Yingxing some face for once and only smiles at him gently. It’s a rare expression for him–sincere and full of more longing and affection than most will ever know. 

Thankfully, Yingxing has never been most. 

“I will,” Dan Feng whispers as he leans down. His smooth, cold lips meet Yingxing’s hot and rough ones in a kiss far too tender to be shared between monsters. “This ring holds your future within it, A-Ying. I will guard and cherish it with all of my heart so that you will live a long and wonderful life beside me.”