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They meet there every night without fail: a high balcony in a wing of Paradise Manor that has an expansive view of Ghost City. It doesn’t get much use anymore since the city lord’s interests lie elsewhere now. It began without them really discussing it, a few months into Yin Yu’s revival; usually Yin Yu is already there, though sometimes Quan Yizhen is waiting for him.
Sometimes they talk; about neutral topics, or safe memories of time spent together, occasionally about how things went wrong.
Sometimes they argue; about how things went wrong, about how things should have been, about where things might go from there.
Sometimes Yin Yu walks away; from neutral topics, from safe memories, from arguments about where things might go from there.
Sometimes they don’t say a word all night, only watch the sprawling city far below: bustling and full of life, loud even from a distance, bright but with spots of darkness always lurking on the edges of lantern light. It’s the only thing that feels real to Yin Yu anymore, this place he’s spent most of his life and probably the rest of his afterlife, more real than he feels himself, just a faint, cold shadow of what he was, and certainly more real than whatever he has with the god by his side.
The one thing they never do is touch. They stand close together, less than a hand’s breadth apart most nights as they lean on the railing, but never nearer. Yin Yu can sense Quan Yizhen’s warmth, like the distant sun, and wonders if Quan Yizhen can sense his coldness, like the far-off moon. He sees the way Quan Yizhen reaches out when he walks away, overwhelmed or angry or scared, but lets his hand fall in defeat.
One night, spent in silence, Yin Yu finds his glance drawn more often to Quan Yizhen than to the city; to the lights reflected in his bright eyes, to the shadows playing on his cheekbones and the curve of his lips, to the fine scar on his throat, to the way their shoulders almost touch. He turns back to the city every time Quan Yizhen notices his glance but he knows he isn’t fooling anyone so he pulls away.
Quan Yizhen must think he’s about to leave because he reaches out, more quickly than usual, and his hand brushes Yin Yu’s wrist. Startled, Yin Yu jerks away, stumbling over his own feet and when Quan Yizhen grabs him to try to stop his fall Yin Yu pulls him down to the floor with him where they land with a painful thud.
Blinking away the shock, Yin Yu looks up into Quan Yizhen’s panicking, guilty face and he can’t help but laugh and throw his arms around his neck. With silent relief, Quan Yizhen returns the embrace, holding him tight, burying his face in the crook of Yin Yu’s shoulder.
As they lie together on that high balcony, dawn arrives. And the warmth of the sunrise is nothing to the flow of warmth in Yin Yu’s long-cold veins as he keeps Quan Yizhen close. The city of ghosts below them fades in the morning light, and Yin Yu has never felt more real, or more alive.