Crimson and Clover

No Paths Are Bound - Part 1

"Nonsense, gege." San Lang reaches for the braid and throws it over his shoulder. First, he looks at it, then watches his reflection in the bronze mirror twirl it in his hands. "Very practical, incredibly fetching. I'm keeping it."

"San Lang!"

"What?" He grins. Then he has the audacity to play with that lopsided braid that looks like it's going to fall apart at the faintest touch. "Gege is so skilled. I should ask him to style my hair every morning from now on."

Xie Lian grabs his hands and twines their fingers together. The monstrosity he created is still dangling over his husband's shoulder. "It's... it's crooked. And messy. You shouldn't wear it."

"Why?"

"It's unbecoming of you."

"But gege." He lets go and wraps his arms around Xie Lian's waist instead. "Whenever my husband braids my hair, I shall wear it proudly."

A long time ago, before Xie Lian's world stuttered to a halt and then fell apart, he had seen his mother fuss about his father. She had fixed his clothes and given him dishes she had thought he'd enjoy. He, in turn, had gifted her jewellery more times than Xie Lian could count, and she had worn each piece proudly. It had been an arranged marriage, like all royal marriages in Xian Le, but they grew to love each other with time. Xie Lian remembers them calm and content, happy in that particular kind of way that spoke of a choice.

They made that choice. It's up to him to do the same now—and so he does as he runs his fingers over the braid even though it looks ridiculous. "Then I shall endeavour to keep practising until I deem my skills worthy of my husband."

San Lang's remaining eye has always been expressive, even when he was still alive. Now it shines, alight with what Xie Lian knows is love, even though he still finds that hard to believe sometimes. It's a habit more than actual doubt; one he vows to free himself from eventually. San Lang doesn't deserve to be doubted.

"Careful, gege," San Lang says now, his voice hardly more than a quiet murmur. "If you keep this up, you'll spoil me."

In his mind's eye, Xie Lian sees him as he was the day he fell from the tower, bruises and cuts and patched-up clothes. "Good," he says with all the determination in the three realms. "San Lang deserves to be spoilt."

What he deserves is the world itself, but Xie Lian has a feeling he would be met with a vehement denial if he offered. He wouldn't be able to give it anyway.

"If we're going to pay our respects to gege's parents and ancestors, then may I choose your attire for today? I'd hate to appear unable to provide for you."

It's unlikely they'd care for Xie Lian's clothes – not when the last few centuries have seen him dressed in what wouldn't even pass for rags in the eyes of any self-respecting prince. But it's not about him, isn't it? It's about San Lang and his desire to prove he's worth Xie Lian's hand. Xie Lian doesn't need any proof other than his husband's continuous presence, but if it's so important to him, then who is he to deny it?

"I'll be happy if you do," he says with a smile. San Lang smiles back and just like that, letting himself be tended to becomes easier than breathing.

San Lang's dice take them directly to the mausoleum, and so do they bring them back hours later. Xie Lian, rested but restless, drags his husband on a stroll through the city. Under the shimmering lights of the barrier and to the joyful greetings of the citizens do they walk; slowly, hand in hand and shoulder to shoulder. Compared to his usual robes, he feels overdressed even though the clothes San Lang chose are far from elaborate. They're simple but well-made with comfort in mind. The fabric is red, embroidered with minuscule butterflies, and only the outer robe is white just like he prefers. San Lang's colours inverted, that's what it is. Xie Lian's cheeks heated up when he realised that.