He blinks and—
—Opens his eyes to the lecture hall bathed in sunlight.
No.
That’s not—
What happened?
Only a moment ago, Lan Xichen watched as Baxia slammed into A-Yao, hurtling his body like a broken paper doll away from Xichen, away from the blood in his hands and the sword bathed in A-Yao’s blood, away from the tingling feeling of A-Yao’s lips on his and—
Now…
Xichen shakes his head slightly and frowns, his polite smile faltering on his face.
This isn’t where he’s supposed to be.
Right?
”Xichen?” Uncle asks in a low voice next to him.
He ducks his head slightly and plasters his smile back on. ”My apologies, Uncle. I was momentarily...”
And then he sees him. A-Yao, standing behind Huaisang, clad in Nie robes and his hair braided, looking young and innocent and beautiful and alive.
”…distracted,” Xichen finishes weakly.
His impeccable control helps him through the motions of greeting the visiting disciples, all the while being intensely aware of A-Yao. When it’s time for the Nie delegation to step forward, it takes all his willpower to keep his hands from shaking as he lifts the lid off the box, revealing beautiful pottery he doesn’t give a damn about because—
Because when his fingers brush A-Yao’s, his eyes go wide and he looks up at Xichen, terror leaking from his gaze before his mask slams back on, locking his fear back inside.
”Thank you, Zewu-jun,” A-Yao replies to Xichen’s inane prattle and bows, retreating back to his place behind Nie Huaisang.
If Xichen didn’t know him as well as he does (Knows? Will know? Thought he knew?), he’d say everything was fine.
It isn’t.
”A-Yao,” Xichen says in a low voice later that day as he manages to catch him. Or perhaps A-Yao let him catch him? He doesn’t know.
A-Yao’s smile is polite. ”Zewu-jun,” he says and bows, deeper than he’s bowed in ages. The terror is still there, lurking just under his skin and spilling out of his seams.
Xichen reaches out, lifts him out of the bow. ”I’ve told you you don’t have to bow to me,” he murmurs.
A-Yao ducks his head and swallows.
They stay still for a moment, A-Yao standing meeker than Xichen has probably ever seen him and Xichen—he needs to know.
”Is it you?” He asks in a half-whisper. ”Or did I come back alone?”
Slowly, A-Yao lifts his head and meets his gaze. Something in his expression shivers and melts away, leaving behind brittle, cracked bones and pride that’s been torn to shreds. ”Yes,” he says softly. ”I understand if you—”
”If I what?” Xichen interrupts. As he reaches out, A-Yao flinches from him like he expected a blow and it makes something hot and painful slash through Xichen’s chest. He keeps his hand out and waits for A-Yao to get himself under control and then slowly, gently, cups his cheek. The skin under his palm is warm and silky smooth and A-Yao’s lashes flutter as he closes his eyes and almost imperceptibly leans on the touch.
”I’m sorry,” Xichen says, shaking his head as A-Yao’s eyes shoot open, incredulous. ”I’m sorry you felt you had no other choice. That you felt you had to do all the things you did.”
”Er-ge,” A-Yao whispers. ”Why—I’m the one who should be begging for forgiveness. Not you! Never you!”
”Are you?” Xichen asks.
A-Yao closes his eyes. ”You—” he starts. ”You aren’t the one I should apologize to,” he murmurs. ”But the ones I should apologize to aren’t dead yet.”
”And will they be?”
”No,” A-Yao says, shaking his head slightly without dislodging Xichen’s hand from his cheek. ”I can’t—not again.”
”A-Yao, this time you’re not alone,” Xichen says and slowly brings his other hand up, holds A-Yao’s lovely face between his hands. He looks up with wide, guileless eyes and for the first time in years, it feels like there are no veils, no hidden layers between their gazes.
He remembers the way A-Yao’s lips pressed against his, the shock that sang through him, the grief of all he never realized could be his.
He won’t make the same mistake again.
Ignoring A-Yao’s widening eyes, Xichen bends down and kisses him, softly, lovingly, begging him to trust, asking him to stay by Xichen’s side this time. For a moment, time stands still and then, with a shudder, A-Yao goes boneless and melts against him. He kisses Xichen like a dying man believing he’s still heading to Hell and Xichen holds him steady, doesn’t let him fall.
Perhaps this time, it will be enough.