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Li Shimin glances out of the living room windows. The night is finally still.
The party along the Great Wall has wound down, a fire reduced to embers. Meanwhile, the uncooked buns have been packed away in the freezer, ready to be fried and eaten with Yizhi’s fresh soy milk for whenever they have time to sit slow for breakfast and let the morning unfurl again.
The Hundun wilds stretch out neverending into the horizon, and tomorrow the three of them will be there, together, in this new shape of theirs.
Shimin’s breath still catches when he thinks about it, when he thinks about the fact that not just one, but both of the pieces of his heart chose him like he chose them, that Zetian looked into his eyes when she spoke about infinity, that Yizhi had grinned at him like that, had winked like he hadn’t had to gather all of Shimin’s broken pieces and put them together again.
His heart feels like a young bamboo shoot, pressing up through the frozen ground in the first days of spring, a small, tentative, scarred thing. If he’s capable of love again, then maybe…
Then maybe…
Shimin lets out a small breath.
By some unspoken understanding, they pile into Yizhi's room. After all, he is the only one used to money and things. His room isn’t like the sparse, utilitarian spaces that Zetian and Shimin haven’t quite figured out yet.
And from the haunted fury simmering in Zetian’s eyes, she doesn’t want to be alone tonight either. (Read: Shimin doesn’t want to leave her alone, but he would sooner go up against a thousand Hunduns than tell her what to do.)
This is Shimin’s first time in Yizhi’s room, and it makes his jaw drop. Every surface is covered with books and scrolls stacked up high like watchtowers. The walls are decorated with calligraphy and a painting of the Wei River snaking through the Chang’an, banks flanked by skyscrapers and precarious buildings, wobbling on top of each other.
Shimin’s breath catches in his throat.
All this time, he’s been living down the hall from this? From all this knowledge? Maybe Yizhi even has the Four Classics. He probably has Four Classics. If not here, then maybe back home. Maybe he would be willing to get ahold of some copies for Shimin. It wouldn’t be too much trouble if he got this entire freaking loft for them, right?
Skies, maybe Shimin could ask sometime. Hopefully those copies will stay books this time.
“Carry me?” Zetian asks, her wheelchair bumps up against the side of the bed, and Shimin finally remembers to breathe.
He reaches down to slip his arms under her back and legs, over her armor. He’s carried her so many times now, but every time feels like it’s been a culmination to this, to her hand cradling his cheek sweetly, her thumb brushing his cheek. Her body rests in his arms trustingly.
It feels like a grace he hasn’t earned, but when she looks at him like this, the heaviness on his shoulders eases a little.
If she’s found him deserving of this tenderness, of her rage, of her protection, and of that infinite love that she spoke of when the only other person in Huaxia who has it is brave, kind Yizhi, then who is Shimin to question it?
Who is Shimin to ever refuse her?
There is a tap on his shoulder when he places her on the bed. When he turns, Yizhi is grinning at him widely, his hair soft around his shoulders.
“Carry me?” He asks, mischief and warmth in his eyes. Thankfully, the red light of the lanterns are there to hide the heat in Shimin’s cheeks
“Oh… Um, of course,” and he hears Zetian laugh behind him.
It might be the first time Shimin’s ever truly heard it before, this deep joyous sound that swoops up from the depths of her belly. It is riotous and wonderful and makes Shimin sweep his arms under Yizhi’s body with more playfulness than he would otherwise dare.
Yizhi yelps in surprise, clinging to Shimin’s chest before a flirty grin blooms.
“Thank you, my king,” Yizhi tells him, startling a laugh out of Shimin. Then he’s curling an arm around the back of Shimin’s neck, glancing at him shyly before he leans up for a kiss, and skies.
May Shimin’s heart never stop pressing against his ribs like that.
“My pleasure,” Shimin barely manages in reply.
He places Yizhi gently on the bed. At once, he's tugging on Shimin’s wrist as he shuffles over into Zetian’s side and entwines his fingers with the ones that she holds out readily for him.
“Just because you’ve had a Match Crowning or whatever doesn’t mean you get to hog the best pilot in all of Huaxia, okay? I deserve a share of those pecs,” Yizhi pretends to chide.
There is a moment where a chill still races up Shimin’s spine before he realises: there isn’t a hint of jealousy or any edge in his voice.
“Hey, you’re speaking to the other best pilot in all of Huaxia, alright? Show some respect,” Zetian bickers right back, a finger coming to poke Yizhi in the side.
But Yizhi only laughs, relief and happiness light in his voice.
“And I’m the student strategist whose bed you're both in.” His voice rises, then mellows into a murmur that Shimin finds himself straining to make out. “I'm the happiest man of all.”
He turns to meet Shimin’s eyes in the dim light, his hair fanned out across the fine silk sheets, and Shimin’s breath catches at how beautiful he is.
Skin like porcelain, he’d said, but a heart and a mind like spirit metal.
“I’m the happiest of all,” Yizhi repeats, his voice lower this time. He leans up to press his lips to Shimin’s, chaste and brief and precious, before he turns to Zetian and does the same.
Carried by the lightness of his breath in his throat and his heart in his chest, Shimin props himself up on one hand and reaches over to Zetian to fit his lips against hers, to complete the triangle.
Then, as he lays back down, he gingerly reaches to rest an arm over Yizhi, his hand on the dip of Zetian’s side. A big part of him still expects her to turn her nose at being smothered (by him, of all people). But she only presses closer against the both of them. A moment passes, and Yizhi slips his hand onto Shimin's, his soft skin brushing, then coming rest perfectly atop his. His smaller, more delicate scholar fingers feel so fragile and dear against his own, but Shimin's felt their strength deep in his qi that stormy night and knows he's not so easily broken.
"Go to sleep, you two. Long day tomorrow," Yizhi says, and Shimin closes his eyes, sighing into Yizhi's hair, into this newfound safety that he's never known.
And he knows Zetian needs it too, so he doesn't so much as twitch when he feels her fingers coming to stroke his knuckles idly, thoughtlessly, her rough callused fingers a comfort that follows him deep into his dreams.