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There had been a time when it would have been unthinkable, impossible, for Yin Yu to travel on his own to the Heavenly Capital and enter the Palace of Qi Ying as if he owned it. For the longest time he hadn’t even wanted to, to say nothing of what was proper or even permitted. But now he found himself going there to unwind after his work in Ghost City was done as if it were the most normal, pleasant thing in the world. Sometimes he went there for a meal, or a walk in the gardens, sometimes for a workout, or a relaxing bath, all enjoyed with or without Quan Yizhen’s company. It was something he even looked forward to now.
That morning dawned brightly. He had gotten so used to the darkness and unchanging nature of the ghost realm that he delighted in the now-strange contrast of warm sunlight on a frigid winter day. So he took advantage of it, and headed to the back courtyard to indulge in an especially intense training session.
It felt good to push himself as hard as he could, turning his mind from all thought except which move was next, taking in deep breaths of the crisp, clean air, the cold breeze a welcome relief as his exertions warmed him. It still fascinated him, that his ghost body knew what to do: he felt his muscles’ strain, the sweat that ran down his back, the heartbeats and breaths he didn’t need that came unbidden.
When he was finished and cooling down, towel around his neck and loosening the collar of his robe, he noticed that Quan Yizhen, bundled up and looking as if he had just come from the mortal realm, had entered the training grounds and was watching him with a complicated expression.
“Yizhen,” Yin Yu said with a light smile, still breathing hard, a bit embarrassed that he’d been too focused to notice his shidi’s entrance, “welcome home.”
“Hey, Shixiong,” Quan Yizhen replied, blinking his eyes like the sun was too bright.
Hearing the tightness in his voice, Yin Yu approached him quickly. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”
Quan Yizhen hesitated. “I… don’t think so,” he mumbled, eyes cast down.
Yin Yu merely looked at him, concerned and confused.
Seeing that look, Quan Yizhen took a deep breath and attempted to explain. “I know it’s been like this for a while now, you and me, but… something about seeing you here today, so comfortable and at-home…” He saw Yin Yu’s sudden smile and blushed slightly. “You just looked so amazing doing those moves, it reminded me of—” He paused, lowered his voice. “Of back then, especially with your hair up like that. It made me think about the good and the bad parts. What we had, what we lost, what we’ve gotten back…”
Feeling the tightness in his throat, Yin Yu could only nod, encouraging him to continue.
“...And it made me even more grateful for what we have now.” He paused again, looking unsure. “But it just kind of hurts. Should it hurt?”
“It can,” Yin Yu whispered. He was familiar with that ache, the messy mix of affection and regret, fear, grief, and love. “It can hurt.” When he saw Quan Yizhen reach out to embrace him, he pulled away. “Yizhen, don’t,” he murmured halfheartedly. “I’m sweaty.”
“I like it when Shixiong’s sweaty,” Quan Yizhen gently insisted, pulling Yin Yu closer and nuzzling his jaw, making him laugh. When he kissed away the moisture from his upper lip, Yin Yu allowed it; that kind of attention felt all right today.
Then he put a hand in Quan Yizhen’s hair and laid soft kisses on his eyes. He was glad not to taste any tears caught in those thick lashes. As they held each other close, Yin Yu silently vowed that the days when this love hurt them would now be few and far between.