When midnight approaches

by Ani

Content warnings: mentions of violence; implied sexual content

It is a cold night and the Unclean Realm is quiet. Almost everyone had retired to their quarters for the night and only the guards greet Nie Huaisang as he walks across the halls. He spent the evening wandering around, stretching his legs after a day spent in the library slouched over tactical maps and letters written by his fellow rebellion members.

The moon shines brightly and Nie Huaisang longs for his brush, for some ink and for time to sit down and write poetry like he used to do when he was younger. Long gone are the days when he could spend a nice afternoon indulging in his favorite pastimes. The Wens changed everything and now, Nie Huaisang’s priority is to make them pay.

A couple of his most trusted disciples stand on either side of the entryway to Nie Huaisang’s rooms. They bow at him politely and take a hold of the iron hoops, opening the heavy doors for him.

Nie Huaisang walks through the threshold and the doors close behind him. He has a brief moment to let his shoulders relax before he feels someone approaching him from the shadows.

Nie Huaisang unsheathes the dagger he always keeps hidden within the folds of his fan and holds it tightly. His saber remains untouched by his waist. Qinghe Nie’s saber technique is not suited to fighting indoors and it would be a shame if his fine jade and porcelain pieces get knocked down by reckless violence.

Once upon a time, his hands would have trembled, his feet would have remained rooted to the spot where he stood and he would have been an easy target for his attacker. Now, Nie Huaisang won’t go down without a fight.

Everything happens in an instant—Nie Huaisang lunges forward, pushing the figure in the shadows backwards, directing the dagger to their throat. They walk back a few steps, staggering and barely managing to recover their balance before they fall.

The candlelight is brighter deeper into the room, and Nie Huaisang can recognize the face of the person who had been lurking in the dark, and taking him by surprise.

“Oh,” Nie Huaisang breathes. “It’s you.”

Nie Huaisang takes yet another step forward, pressing the edge of the blade against Jiang Cheng’s throat, hard enough to make Jiang Cheng feel its sharpness but not to break the skin.

“You know I don’t it like when you sneak into my personal quarters unannounced,” Nie Huaisang chides, tilting his head to the side.

Jiang Cheng frowns and takes a hold of Nie Huaisang’s wrist, not pushing his arm away, not yet.

“It’s done,” Jiang Cheng speaks for the first time since he arrived, completely ignoring Nie Huaisang’s previous words.

Nie Huaisang hums. He does not need to ask what Jiang Cheng is referring to.

“Good,” he replies simply, casually, like he did not expect something different—he didn’t.

Jiang Cheng takes a step back and Nie Huaisang lets the dagger slip away from his fingers, smiling as it clatters to the ground. Jiang Cheng lets go of arm with a huff and walks away to sit at the table. Nie Huaisang follows, scooping the dagger up from the ground gracefully.

“The tea has probably gone cold by now,” Nie Huaisang comments. It has been at least a couple of hours since he asked the servants to prepare tea for him, and it has remained untouched on the table until that moment.

He picks up the teapot and pours himself a cup of tea, wincing when he takes an experimental sip. He is not fond of cold tea and after the time he spent walking in the cold, he longs for something warmer.

Jiang Cheng shrugs takes out a couple of jars of wine, placing them on the table. Nie Huaisang reaches for one, uncorks it and pours himself a drink that he downs on a single gulp.

The alcohol burns in his chest and feels almost uncomfortably warm in his empty stomach, but he still refills his cup.

In front of him, Jiang Cheng tips his head back and drinks. Nie Huaisang can see his throat bobbing as he swallows, can see a fine trail of wine escaping the corner of his lips—he wants to lean over the table and follow it down with his lips to Jiang Cheng’s collarbone.

The moment is gone too soon. Jiang Cheng straightens himself and wipes his mouth with his sleeve, placing the jar on the table.

Nie Huaisang drinks another sip of wine and opens his fan to place the blade back where he usually keeps it, hidden from everyone else’s eyes. Afterwards, he taps the fan against his palm, closing it in a snap. Jiang Cheng snatches the fan from his hands before he can put it away, so swiftly and easily that Nie Huaisang would be proud if he wasn’t outraged.

“That’s not something you can play with!” Nie Huaisang exclaims, reaching for his fan.

Jiang Cheng stands up, effectively avoiding Nie Huaisang’s hands.

“I’m not playing,” Jiang Cheng mutters, opening the fan slowly, revealing the exquisite design painted on it.

Jiang Cheng takes the dagger and unsheathes it, holding it in front of his face to inspect it. Nie Huaisang received it as a gift just after his brother—too young to carry such a weight on his shoulders—succeeded their father as the new sect leader.

It is a thin blade, its hilt is embedded with fine jade and gold. A delicate weapon, sharp and deadly in the right hands. When Nie Huaisang received the dagger, he was still a child unable to appreciate its beauty or its lethality.

“It’s a good blade,” Jiang Cheng says, sitting back down and lowering the fan to the table. “Very sharp, it’d make a clean cut.” He slides a finger over the edge and twirls the dagger in his fingers.

“I know.” Nie Huaisang reaches for the dagger again. Jiang Cheng keeps it away from him. “My brother made sure of it, he wanted the best.”

“Have you used it?” Jiang Cheng asks.

“If you’re asking if I have killed someone with it, no I haven’t,” Not yet. Nie Huaisang answers, downing the rest of his cup. “This is a good wine, it’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to drink wine from Lanling.”

Jiang Cheng hums and shifts his attention back to the blade. For an instant, it seems like his eyes shine in the dim light and the ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. It’s gone far too soon and Nie Huaisang wonders if he imagined it, feeling a pang of guilt that he has tried so hard to suppress ever since his liaison with Jiang Cheng started.

When Nie Huaisang looks at Jiang Cheng he is reminded of the boy he met when they were kids, hiding behind their fathers’ legs and waving shyly at each other. He thinks about the warmth of Lotus Pier that he got to experience just a handful of times, and he remembers the time they spent studying together in the Cloud Recesses. He treasures those memories the most.

Back then, their routine was simple. Mornings trying to stay awake during their boring classes, afternoons spent lying lazily under the cool shade of a tree, and evenings reuniting in their rooms to drink alcohol and read explicit books clandestinely. They had a lot to learn and their shoulders were free from the weight of the world pushing them down.

Nie Huaisang never expected the drastic changes of the last few years—to become the sect leader, or to fight a war from the shadows to end the Wens’ rule.

He misses how Jiang Cheng’s arm felt around his shoulders as much as he misses the joking and laughing while they walked with Wei Wuxian. Nie Huaisang loved the way Jiang Cheng used to smile back then, so carefree and so full of life.

Nie Huaisang used to love Jiang Cheng… and he might still do, even if admitting it pains him.

The smile is gone from Jiang Cheng’s face, the light has faded from his eyes, and his vibrant purple robes have been replaced by dull black and gray ones. Any symbol that might link Jiang Cheng back to his past as the heir of the Yunmeng Jiang sect has been erased from his person forever.

A part of him wants to preserve whatever is left of the young boy who stole his heart, but he knows the Jiang Cheng he used to know is gone forever. Still, just a single thought about losing this Jiang Cheng—of him not returning from his dangerous missions in the name of revenge—makes his stomach lurch and his eyes sting.

Nie Huaisang wonders how much of it has been his fault. How things might have turned out if he hadn’t decided to use his old friend as his personal weapon. He wonders when the lines dividing the Jiang Cheng from his memories and the one currently sitting in front of him started to blur, wonders if a younger Jiang Cheng would have killed with so much satisfaction if given the chance.

However, if Jiang Cheng’s hands are covered in blood, Nie Huaisang’s are equally stained. There are moments when Nie Huaisang swears he can see the blood, staining his palms and caked beneath his fingernails. No matter how much he scrubs to clean his hands, the blood remains.

Qinghe Nie’s sect was founded by a butcher, and Nie Huaisang supposes that one way or another his hands were always meant to be covered in red.

Nie Huaisang reaches for his dagger again, finally snatching it away from Jiang Cheng’s hand and nicking his forefinger in the process. Nie Huaisang laughs, licking a drop of blood away from his skin.

Jiang Cheng looks at him and takes Nie Huaisang’s hand in his, lowering it to his side. He traces the contour of his lips with his thumb and Jiang Cheng’s skin feels rough against his mouth, but Nie Huaisang doesn’t mind it much—has already felt those calloused fingers digging into his thighs and roaming all over his bare chest.

Nie Huaisang unties his saber from his side, dropping the last of his defenses. Qiuniu clanks on the table as Nie Huaisang places it down before he walks around the table to stand before Jiang Cheng.

He kneels on the floor and places his hands on Jiang Cheng’s shoulders. Nie Huaisang pushes him backwards until Jiang Cheng is lying supine on the floor and he is hovering over him.

“When are you leaving?” he asks, brushing a strand of hair away from Jiang Cheng’s face. His fingers linger on his skin for a moment too long.

“I only came here to pay a quick visit.” Jiang Cheng’s hands settle down on his waist, not pushing him away, but neither closer. Typical of him. “I should be on my way soon. You should know that.”

“I don’t know,” Nie Huaisang lies.

He is perfectly aware that Jiang Cheng’s new target has been spotted in the area surrounding the Man-Eating Castle. He personally sent the messenger who gave him order to go get rid of them after Jiang Cheng finished some business close to Lanling Jin’s area. However, falling into old habits has always been easier than admitting the truth.

“I really don’t know.”

Jiang Cheng frowns. Nie Huaisang leans down and kisses him—once, twice; bites his lips and breathes into his mouth. Jiang Cheng answers by sliding his palms up across Nie Huaisang’s torso, tugging him closer, until Nie Huaisang is lying on top of him.

Nie Huaisang rolls down his hips a couple of times and Jiang Cheng sighs.

“We don’t have the time for this,” Jiang Cheng mutters. “I should leave.”

Nie Huaisang kisses him again. Jiang Cheng cups Nie Huaisang’s jaw and tilts his head to the side to deepen the kiss, shoving his tongue into Nie Huaisang’s mouth. There is nothing sweet about the kiss, but the way Jiang Cheng’s face relaxes when Nie Huaisang looks at him afterwards makes his chest hurt.

“Can I convince you to stay longer?” Nie Huaisang whispers breathlessly, straddling Jiang Cheng’s hips and grinding on him. He arches his back and licks his lips tantalizingly.

Jiang Cheng stares at him for a moment, pondering his answer.

“Just until zi shi,” he finally says.

“That’s enough,” Nie Huaisang lies, fumbling with Jiang Cheng’s robes. “You always come back to me after all.”