The warm weight of Jin Guangyao in his arms sooths some dark ache and Xichen holds him for what could easily be close to an hour, committing every detail to memory, because he knows that in the long years to come, this too will fade. This vision of Jin Guangyao, still fresh in the annals of his recollection will become blurred at the edges, and he will no longer even have this to ease the grief.

He closes his eyes against burning tears, arms tight around Jin Guangyao who he's sure is actually a pillow or a tangle of blankets.

Er-ge, please, wake up. Look at me.

There is a moment of hesitation. He knows when he opens his eyes now, Jin Guangyao won't be there. Just a dream, and he clings to it ever tighter, just a moment more, because hope is such a treacherous thing, he doesn't dare let it gain a foothold in his heart. He'd hoped before when he dreamed of Trench, when he dreamed too of that other life where they could eke out some measure of happiness.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to keep himself here just a little longer, he doesn't want to forget A-Yao's voice, or his scent, or the warmth of him.

He takes a shuddering breath, and opens his eyes.

At first he thinks the curtain of dark hair over his face is his own from tossing and turning, but it slowly dawns on him that his fingers are not buried in crumpled linens, but rather soft, bare skin, still warm. He can feel the beating pulse underneath and also Jin Guangyao's breath against his temple.

He bolts upright, cupping the other man's face between his hands, staring in disbelief. He'd been in seclusion for months since his dream of Trench and yet, here they were, in Jin Guangyao's room in the siheyuan. He pointedly avoids looking at the splintered chunk that had been taken out of the bedframe. One revelation at a time, please!

"You're alive," he says incredulously. Something between a laugh and a sob escapes him. "...Or I've gone mad."