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If he is being honest, Caelus can’t really point at an exact time and date when he developed a crush on Dan Heng. It could’ve been one of their reading nights in the Archives that spanned well into the early hours of dawn. It could’ve been that time in Belobog’s fighting ring when Dan Heng bravely shielded him from a robot’s explosion.
It could’ve been their very first meeting, Dan Heng’s face the foremost thing Caelus saw after awakening as a new life—foremost after Kafka, but she doesn’t count for many reasons.
Now that he thinks about it… yeah, it must have been their first meeting. The impression Dan Heng left on him was simply like no other.
That being said, Caelus is many things, but self-unaware is not one of them. Ever since he cognised his feelings for the aloof guard of the Astral Express, he’s had an icky parasite of a suspicion that he stands no chance in wooing Dan Heng’s heart. Caelus, after all, is a nobody. He has nothing to his name except for a nuclear weapon wedged in his chest. Dan Heng, on the other hand, alludes to his mysterious past with every breath taken. His speech, his habits and mannerisms—everything speaks of a long, albeit tumultuous, life. A life compared to which Caelus is nothing but a gibbering baby.
Frankly, Caelus always expected that, if he were to go crazy and actually confess, Dan Heng would turn him down. Never that Dan Heng would be the one confessing and Caelus would be the one rejecting him.
~~
Caelus blinks once, twice, thrice, staring at his companion with a blank expression. Dan Heng reads a lot, so his eloquence is a given, but the profession of affection that tumbled from his lips left Caelus a bit stunned. Bemused, too.
But also—pensive and sorrowful.
Dan Heng waits for his response with the patience of a saint. Caelus takes a good, thorough look at him, and the forever-lonely hollow in his chest resounds with an echo of denial.
Caelus is many things. He is reckless, but he isn’t dumb. He is trusting, but he is also observant. He may not know the many unspoken laws that govern people’s souls, but he espies his own results when he watches as these souls do their thing. Perhaps he cannot name all the complicated feelings that exist in the universe, but he is able to discern them. He is able to allocate them to a broader, more familiar category, be it happy or sad or distressed or upset.
Looking at Dan Heng now, Caelus can glimpse the uncertainty on his face, and he falters.
Dan Heng is still dressed in the robes of a High Elder, his antlers and long hair complementing his regal deportment. He is anything but the Dan Heng Caelus knows and has been admiring for a while now.
Caelus remembers the small, almost-timid admission Dan Heng allowed to slip when they were running errands for Bailu. He still has residual memories of his previous incarnation, Dan Feng, because of his incomplete rebirth. Caelus had numerous opportunities to confirm that by monitoring Dan Heng’s demeanour as they traipsed the Luofu back and forth.
Once that clicks in place, Caelus’ mind is made in an instant.
“I’m sorry, Dan Heng,” he says. Five words, and they are enough for unusually overt glumness to be cast upon the other man’s features. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
His rejection is curt and brisk. Compared to a poem of long-standing adoration Dan Heng had sung for him, it feels disrespectful. Dan Heng, despite it all, nods, and that nod means the world.
“May I at least know why?”
Caelus has dreaded that question. But Dan Heng deserves this much.
“Let me preface this by saying that I’m perfectly aware my reasons for rejecting you are selfish and stupid.”
“If they carry enough weight to have helped you make a decision, they cannot be stupid or selfish, Caelus. You are not that kind of person.”
Oh, that feels bad. That feels awful. Dan Heng really is too kind for his own good.
Caelus is absolutely that kind of person, which is why “awful” might be too weak a description to connote the heavy prick on his conscience.
“Are you sure about that, Dan Heng? Or is it Dan Feng’s memories talking?”
Dan Heng’s eyes widen. Caelus looks at them directly, and the supernatural glow of his irises—the glow that his Dan Heng never possessed—makes him want to swivel on his heel and run far, far away, never to be seen by humankind again. He perseveres, in part out of dedication, in part out of pettiness.
“You claim that you have no attachment to your past. You told me you never got to experience the Luofu like the natives because you spent your childhood in the Shackling Prison. But you see.. I’ve always noticed that you long for something, Dan Heng. If nothing tethers you to the life on this ship—to your previous incarnation—what could you possibly be yearning for?” Dan Heng’s mouth opens, some sort of rebuttal poised to be shot, but Caelus shushes it with a rise of his palm. “I don’t mean to fault you for that. Your memories are yours, and it’s entirely up to you what to do with them. I just don’t think… I’ll be able to handle it. Not with everything I’ve come to know about you… or Dan Feng.
“What if the memory of Dan Feng is strong enough to influence your judgement? What if he had a lover and you only came to me because I’m the next closest thing? Or worse yet… what if you came to me because you want to prove that you are different from him?” Caelus pauses to take a breath. There’s moisture piled up at the back of his throat, and the wet sound that escapes him resembles a sob. “I simply can’t help but fear… that you might not like me for me.”
His gaze has long since glued itself to the ground, unable to withstand the beautiful glimmers in Dan Heng’s eyes, each a lake with a shimmering moonlit path upon its waves. It returns to them at last, and Dan Heng’s face tells him everything he wanted and didn’t want to know.
In Caelus’ shameful concession lay hidden a very simple, very earnest plea.
If I am mistaken, please assure me of it. Tell me you won’t treat me like a replacement.
Dan Heng cannot assure him. He is still unsure of himself. He cannot tell where the line between himself and Dan Feng is drawn. At this moment, as his and Caelus’ eyes meet, his expression is that of sombre acceptance. Caelus struck where it hurts.
It hurts for Caelus, too, but he continues to prattle because his guilt is more potent than his self-preservation, “You are still important to me, Dan Heng. I genuinely wish for you to find your path in life—I can even help with it if, erm, you know. If you need someone to talk to. Or if you need me to whack those annoying geezers. It’s just… it will be my very first relationship. I want it to matter. I don’t want to constantly worry where my partner and I stand. I’m still willing to help you sort things out… but only as a friend.”
A long, pregnant lull settles between them. They’ve chosen a quiet corner in Cloudford, nothing but the whirring of machines interrupting their rendezvous. In such quietude, most noises from Exalting Sanctum reach their niche. Music, laughter, chittering. They clash with the tension in the air.
“Okay. Thank you for being honest with me, Caelus.”
Dan Heng says it like he means it—he definitely means it. Caelus really feels like throwing himself off the nearest tower of crates.
He hasn’t offered Dan Heng to sort his issues out together. He hasn’t said that he hasn’t offered that because he is deeply terrified of ever being compared to someone, even a fling from a distant past. He hasn’t said that perhaps he would’ve been open to compromise if it were anyone but Dan Heng because he knows for a fact his poor metaphorical heart won’t cope properly if it’s Dan Heng of all people drawing the comparison.
He hasn’t said that he doesn’t feel like enough of a person to compete for anyone’s heart.
He hasn’t said that he likes Dan Heng back—he hasn’t said he doesn’t like him either.
Dan Heng questions none of those.
And Caelus nods, and his nod is supposed to mean the world, but probably means less than a pinch of fake stardust he once found in a trash can.
~~
The aftermath of Dan Heng’s failed confession is rather awkward, but they make do. They struggle to manoeuvre around each other the first two mornings, stuttering their greetings and dallying when they need to pass jam, sauce and whatever else is served during breakfast through the other party.
Their crew notice, of course. Only March is brazen enough to bring it up. They concoct some pitiful excuse, and no one believes it, but everyone politely drops the subject.
(Except March later drags Caelus into her room and threatens to encase him in a block of her Six-Phased Ice if he doesn’t spill the beans. He tells her the truth. She looks at him incredulously, and he can’t figure out if she is mad at him or sympathises with him. Eventually, she just lets him go.)
They manage to strike a semi-decent conversation by the third morning. A week later, their nightly readings make their return.
The invisible string of something unspoken but tangible, like barbed wire hung across their throats, still lurks in the air, but they’ve mostly restored the friendship they once had as the Express finally departs from the Luofu.
~~
When it comes to first impressions, Dan Heng is still Caelus’ number one, though a number one he reminisces about with a bittersweet taste on his tongue.
Aventurine, in the meantime, has weaselled his way to his number two.
Caelus doesn’t know what to make of him at first. He puts his imperfect observation skills to practice, and the veneer of smiles, ravenous hunger for adventure and honeyed words seems to be hiding a void. A vacant space once occupied by hopes and dreams and aspirations, now it’s but a charred skeleton of a soul.
On one hand, it makes Aventurine all the more dangerous. Those who have nothing to lose make the most fearsome opponents—this is something Caelus learned the hard way.
On the other hand, it makes it easier to circle his orbit. Aventurine holds nothing dear and seeks thrills in the simplest of things. Whenever he talks to Caelus, it feels as though it’s Caelus he wants to unravel like the finest riddle. Contradictory to Aventurine’s pragmatic nature, Caelus feels truly seen.
They are not friends, but he is entertaining company, and Caelus never says no to that.
~~
“You… want me to teach you how to be more confident?”
Aventurine blinks his mesmerising eyes, a ghost of an amused smile unfurling on his mouth. Caelus bobs his head.
“Do I have the honour to know why?” At Caelus’ peeved squint, he placates, the same leisurely finesse clinging to his every motion, “Different occasions demand different flavours of confidence. Even a tiny mouse can be confident—in its skill of running away from predators, that is.”
Caelus worries his lip. They are not friends, but they might be inching towards this stage in their relationship. Besides, it seems that Aventurine’s brush with mortality humbled him. It’s another sentiment Caelus cannot name for the lack of experience, but scans off the subdued twinkle in his eyes. Aventurine… looks at him differently. Somehow. He appears softer, not as guarded and loutish as before.
So, he tells him. How he’s been wondering about love and feeling pressured about never having dated anyone. How he’s even looked into various dating apps.
And that brings him to a sheepish revelation, “I just… feel oddly intimidated by people who show interest in me.”
“Every single one of them or…?”
“Every single one of them. I mean, they ought to have dated someone before me, right? So I can’t help but feel… inferior.”
Aventurine is normally quick to dissect anything he finds even remotely hilarious, his sharp tongue both graceful and vulgar in its lashing. Now, however, he doesn’t come across all too eager to ridicule Caelus for his fears.
He is still his insufferable self, though, so he accentuates his answer with a snort.
“As far as I’m concerned, reasonable people never enter the dating scene to brag about their past experiences. They look for a partner because they want something new. Although, of course, there are some who look for a partner precisely because they want the same thing they had. Or the next closest thing.”
Caelus conceals his discomfort by twiddling with his phone. His game is paused, but it’s not like Aventurine can see the screen from where he is seated across the room.
“And what if I meet those people? The… second kind.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to tell their intentions right away. Sometimes they themselves are unaware of their shortcomings,” Aventurine shrugs, flicking both wrists. “At the end of the day, what remains is for you to take a leap of faith. Experience is built by hurting other people and getting hurt in return.”
Caelus gawks at him, “I don’t want that.”
“No?”
“Is there… is there really no other way?”
“You can always search for a lover who is as innocent as yourself.”
Caelus winces, “It’ll make me feel like a jerk who takes advantage of someone to feel better about myself. I don’t want that either.”
Aventurine laughs. It’s a surprisingly pleasant sound. He laughs like how March laughs at a cute animal—gentle and fond.
“Noble, aren't we? You’ll remain at your standstill forever if you keep at it. Aw, c’mon, don’t pout. I’ve got an idea how to help you.”
“I’m not pouting,” Caelus grumbles. His cheeks just happen to be more inflated than usual. “What did you think of?”
One of Aventurine’s eyes closes in a mirthful wink.
“You can try your hand at dating without actually dating anyone. This way you’ll learn what to expect.”
“Like… like fake dating?”
“Yup.”
Caelus has only ever seen this kind of thing in TV shows and comic books. For it to happen in real life—and potentially work out…?
“Don’t worry, it will go swimmingly,” Aventurine assures. “I’ll personally show you the ropes.”
“Uh-huh… wait, does it mean I’ll be dating you?”
“Precisely! Aren’t you a little genius? Hey, don’t glare at me like that. You make it seem as though I have ulterior motives or something.”
“Don’t you?”
Aventurine slumps in his chair, hands lifted in mock surrender, “Guilty as charged. I am in need of a partner to flaunt. It’s entirely work-related, and no, I won’t be gambling with your life. You help me, I help you. How does that sound?”
Caelus schools his face into a grimace that insists it sounds very uninviting. Innately, though, he grapples against himself in a heated debate.
Like Aventurine said, he will never get rid of his dilemma if he keeps passively brooding over his troubles. If he truly wants to quench the miserable emptiness that never leaves him alone, he needs to start somewhere.
And Aventurine, the conman he is, senses the outcome of that debate even before Caelus comes to a conclusion of his own.
“Do we have a deal?”
Caelus peers at him.
Aventurine doesn’t hold anything dear. His eyes remain two windows to an obdurate void. He will never compare Caelus to anyone or anything that isn’t himself—there simply won’t be any benefit for his cynical soul.
“We have a deal.”
~~
Two weeks have passed since they officiated their agreement, and Caelus can unabashedly admit that “dating” Aventurine is… confusing.
First, there is this whole “business” thing. He still doesn’t know why Aventurine has to appear taken in front of a potential benefactor, but dutifully plays the role of his handbag. The parties he is taken to are too damn stuffy, but the food is great, so it’s a fair deal overall. Aventurine is a grounding presence amidst all the overperfumed and underdressed attendees, so he might even call it a good bonding activity.
Second, dating Aventurine comes in a package with bodyguards. Caelus discovered that by accident after getting ambushed in one of Penacony’s alleyways. Before he could even get a hold of his bat, several armed IPC soldiers marched into the cranny and apprehended every assailant, then hauled him to the nearest infirmary without as much as a hello. If he mistakenly believed they were part of the ambush and knocked some of them out, well… Aventurine never complained, so he sees no reason to apologise.
Then come the gifts. He’s been beyond excited when Aventurine proclaimed that gift-giving is a vital element of every romantic relationship. However, Aventurine’s taste in gifts doesn’t exactly match his. The overly expensive pocket watch he is supposed to use instead of his old one? The spick-and-span suit he will never wear because it is more costly than his kidney—also, because it reveals a heart-shaped portion of his chest? The jewellery he sees little value in because it will only obstruct him on his journeys?
He begs Aventurine to switch to more traditional chocolate and flowers, but his obnoxious partner never relents. If anything, he seems keen on gauging his reaction every time he surprises Caelus with a new gold-dusted bundle of bling-bling. And if Caelus’ eyes light up in suspense as he tears the wrapper off, a smile never leaving him in the middle of huffing and grousing—well, he sees no reason to apologise for that either.
He keeps all gifts neatly tucked into his wardrobe, occasionally playing with them before going to sleep.
~~
His relationship with Aventurine was never supposed to be some big and scary secret, so he might have forgotten to inform the Express crew about that. Might have. But it’s not certain.
Not when he is busy battling against a particularly resilient corner of the paper he’s been trying to glue to the velvety gift box.
Before he knows it, the box is pried off his fingers, the lid sliding open to bare its innards. It’s a couple of bright turquoise earrings. It's Caelus' turn to do the giving, and the earrings are the result of many hours of ruminating what on Penacony the enigmatic gambler would like.
They weren’t even his idea. He had to message Guinaifen for that, with a tearful promise to never tell a living soul.
And now March is looking at them with the most deadpan expression, her eyes reflecting some of their shine.
“Give it back,” Caelus sighs. He reaches for the box, but March hops away from him. “Hey, careful! If you rip the wrapper, I’ll have you buy me a new one—”
“At last,” March exhales. With one final look at the earrings, she clams the box shut and passes it back into his grasp. “Have you two finally made up? Or are you only planning on making amends?”
Caelus stares at her dumbly, “Uh.”
“You and Dan Heng.”
“Oh.”
March’s lucent smile grows a tad crooked, “…Am I wrong?”
Caelus rubs the back of his neck, “These are not for Dan Heng.”
There is something awfully, viscerally wrong with vocalising that solitary sentence, let alone acknowledging the situation. He hasn’t had a single depressing thought about Dan Heng ever since Aventurine made his bizarre proposal.
Caelus peers inside the box. The earrings remain the same, well-crafted and dare he say—beautiful. He is no connoisseur of delicate things, but the seller recommended them with ardour. He even got a huge discount because he beat the goons that tried to rob the store while he was there.
It’s aquamarines if he is not mistaken. The colour of dew-freckled mint leaves. The colour of a peaceful sea harbour.
The colour of Dan Heng’s eyes.
Caelus hisses under his breath.
“If they are not for him, then who?”
He weighs his options carefully. She probably won’t take too well to knowing he’s been pseudo-dating Aventurine, especially in light of all the trouble it caused him. That one time he was nearly abducted after a particularly lavish party? And how Aventurine accidentally locked him inside his hotel room afterwards? The crew was texting him non-stop, inquiring where he was. He had to weave a very elaborate story to cover for his absence.
Yeah, March will be really upset if she finds out.
He wags his hand non-committally, “Someone else.”
“It can’t be Mister Yang, so… Miss Himeko, then? I’m pretty sure her birthday is not today. Or… oh my Aeons, me?!”
“Dream on.”
March puckers her lips, though her mood is clearly sportive. Or so it was until her eyes popped.
“Are you going on a date?”
Caelus sputters. Like a bird of prey, she latches onto his moment of weakness, grabbing him by the shoulders with a clear intention of never letting go.
“I knew something was up! You are always out and about, but it’s been getting out of control recently. You also smell weird sometimes.”
He immediately sniffs his sleeve, “Weird how? I always bathe after my trash cans.”
March scoffs at that remark, but omits the insult in favour of saying, “Like cologne, Caelus. Some really expensive cologne that makes you want to cry because it reeks of money and someone else’s tears.”
“…I’ve been making lots of money recently.”
“You are not trying to insinuate it’s yours, are you?”
“…Why not?”
March pulls at her hair as though he just shattered her camera.
“Caelus, since when do you wear cologne? No offence, but it took us months to convince you to buy a new pair of shoes.”
“My old shoes were perfectly fine,” he bristles. “Wasting extra on new ones was just unnecessary.”
“See? You are always like this, satisfied with the bare minimum. I’m not even saying it’s bad or anything, you can be charming when you really put your back into it—”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m always charming!”
“—but it’s very unlike you to suddenly splurge on this kinda stuff. I’m not talking about your games or whatever treasures you excavate from the trash.”
Caelus grows silent. He can still argue his way out of this, which will lead to a very crabby March, a very crabby him, and March’s point effectively proven right. As for deceit, he already blew that chance long ago—perhaps back when he had first lied to the crew about his predicament.
“…Fine,” he hunches in his seat. “Yeah, okay, you're right. I’m going on a date, and these earrings are a gift I bought for the occasion.”
“It’s not your first date with them, is it? Are you, like…” March’s eyes sparkle, “a couple?!”
A couple. He and Aventurine.
It still rings wrong, but not as wrong as suddenly dropping Dan Heng’s name in the middle of their conversation. Caelus can even say that he is strangely at peace with this.
“Dating” Aventurine is confusing, but he’s mostly been having fun. The nearly-kidnapped-and-then-locked-in fiasco notwithstanding.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice breathy and perhaps even vulnerable. “Yeah, we are.”
March squeals.
“Who is it?! How come you never told us? Most of all, me?! Aren’t we the Astral Express family?”
“I… can’t tell you yet. We agreed to keep things private for a while.”
“Are they a celebrity or something? Wait. Is it Robin?!”
Caelus would like to ask why it was Robin her thoughts immediately drifted to, but elected to shake his head, “No, it’s not Robin.”
“Is it someone we know?”
Aeons. She might actually deduct who it is at this rate. Detective March can be terrifying.
“Yes.”
“Is it someone from Penacony?”
“March,” Caelus shushes gently. He must have sounded very uncharacteristic of his usual blunt cheer because she stills and regards him with a conflicted frown. “I’ll tell you… in due time.”
March looks at his face—really looks at it, hunting for any minuscule clue on his thought process. He might hate the parties Aventurine attends, but they have taught him to control his body language when he feels out of place. He manages to keep his features flat and calm, so she eventually leans away, contemplative but clearly uneager to pry into his secrets any longer.
“Fine. I’ll trust you on that. Need some help wrapping that up? You seem to be struggling.”
He puffs out the breath he’s been involuntarily holding, “Yes, please.”
He scoots farther down his couch, and March plops onto the spot he’s just freed, her deft fingers enveloping the small box once more. This time, her touch is much more respectful, if not a bit cautious.
“Uhm… Caelus?” He hums, indicating his attention. March tarries before murmuring, “Don’t forget about the Express, okay? I—We might feel lonely without you.”
Her words take him aback. She grins at him shyly.
Why would they be lonely without him? They have their own lives, much more saturated and eventful than whatever his amnesiac self can offer. He wants to doubt her, but she really doesn’t sound devious, so he traps the tart words in his mind.
If he was simply reluctant about revealing it’s Aventurine he is seeing, now he knows for a fact he can’t divulge this secret. How pitiful would it be? The only relationship he scoured is the one built on pretences and lies.
(Perhaps he could’ve had something much more genuine, but he wilfully missed that chance because he is a bumbling, insecure idiot.)
“Of course I won’t forget you,” he says, and his voice is strained even to his own ears.
He doesn’t say that he expects to be forgotten first.
Perhaps he’s neglected that, as a fellow amnesiac, March will be holding onto every memory she can, even something as worthless as him.
~~
Caelus was prepping himself for a variety of reactions, from scorn to a dismissive thank-you. He certainly did not expect Aventurine to replace his original earrings with the new ones on the spot. They do clash with his tacky green attire, the hue just a little bit off, but the shape nicely highlights the dainty outline of his skull.
When Aventurine asks for his opinion, he tells him just that. Aventurine hums, “Then I’ll just have to buy more clothes in the this colour. Oh. How about I buy something for you? We’ll match!”
“I don’t need new clothes,” Caelus grouches.
“And I sincerely doubt it. You are wearing your stupid coat again.”
Offended on behalf of his garment, Caelus hugs its unclasped sides closer, “Hey, what’s wrong with it? It’s sturdy and comfy. I cleaned it the other day, too. If you say it’s ugly, I’ll smack you with my bat.”
“It’s not ugly, do not fret,” Aventurine snickers. “But what happened to all the outfits I already bought? That white one was eye candy.”
“It doesn’t cover my chest properly.”
“Yeah. Like I said, eye candy.”
“I’m not wearing that outdoors.”
“Hmm. Now that you mention it, I will be unfortunate if others see you in it. How about a private show? We can relocate our date to my hotel room. You’ll even get to wear your beloved coat to cover yourself while we go there.”
Caelus swats at him, though with no force for the hit to connect.
“My crew must be back at the Express. If they actually see me wearing it, I’ll die.” He pauses. Then adds, less heatedly, “If you are planning on locking me in your room again, slim chance. Your door won’t last against me. It certainly didn’t last time.”
“What if it’s been reinforced with metal?”
“Why do you think I have my lance on me tonight?”
“…Touche.”
Aventurine huffs like how he usually does when letting Caelus win an argument he isn’t supposed to be winning, but his lip juts out like a distressed kid’s. Caelus stares at him with dismay, and Aventurine has the audacity to crease his eyebrows in a way that mimics a puppy begging for scraps.
Worse yet, it’s working. Caelus feels a twinge in his heart.
“…Next time, maybe.”
“Mhhm.”
They’ve just exited a restaurant that Caelus could never afford with his wallet alone. Annoying Aventurine for food has been a blast, and if his smirks whenever he quipped something witty were anything to go by, he's also had his share of satisfaction.
It doesn’t seem this way now. Aventurine’s gaze grows distant, and he takes Caelus’ hand, towing him along a bustling street. They amble into a dimmed promenade, the lamps that coast the perimeter barely functional to illuminate the area. It makes for a pretty scene, though: the other side is fenced by a rail that overtops a picturesque hillock. Flickers from remote window lights and neon signboards blend into a motley mosaic beneath their feet, feeding into the local patina of tranquillity. For some reason, there is hardly any foot traffic. Aside from the two, only one silhouette can be seen strolling in the distance.
They halt near the fence, basking in the pool of feeble yellow. Aventurine still hasn’t released his hand. They’ve been doing it a lot lately—the hand-holding—but something strikes Caelus as odd.
Aventurine is usually mischievous with his hands, tracing the ridges of his knuckles, massaging his fingers, or trapping his digits with his own so that they cannot slink away. This time, his grip is listless, tentative even. He holds Caelus' hand as though determined to let go any second, yet he doesn't actually let go. Coupled with his silence, it gives Caelus a sense of foreboding.
“Is everything alright?”
Aventurine hums, neither a yes nor a no. His hand finally moves, squeezing the other's.
“You’ll wear that outfit next time, you said…?”
Caelus audibly clears his throat, cheeks reddening.
“Only because you insist.”
“Huh. A pity.”
“What? Do you want me to wear it or not?”
“Of course I do,” Aventurine replies in a heartbeat. Caelus nearly startles at the speed. “But I’m afraid there won’t be a next time.”
“Do you mean…?”
“Yeah,” he grins, though it’s a blank, dejected grin—even more plastic that those he occasionally dons in a casino. “We’ve got the business contract. There is no reason to continue our little charade.”
“Oh.”
Oh, Caelus says, not fully understanding what he is feeling. He’s always known that their funky back-and-forth will come to an end. Heck, the predetermined finality was what compelled him to agree in the first place.
And yet, as he stands beneath the soft light, the stars beaming captiously and Aventurine as still as a statue, he finds himself a bit disappointed.
Confusing as they were, their dates were fun. For the most part.
“…I see,” he settles for uttering. “Well, that was eventful. You were right, I actually learned a lot. So, uhm, does it mean we part ways here or…?”
His hand jerks away, but Aventurine still won't let go. For a moment, something darkens in his vibrant eyes before he flashes him a broad smirk.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Caelus racks his brain, but nothing handy comes about. His bat is on his hip, his wallet and phone are in his pockets, and the case with his lance is hanging on his back. He didn’t bring anything else.
“Uhm… do I say goodbye?”
“Caelus, Caelus,” Aventurine tuts. “You’ve just said you learned a lot, but that can’t be everything.”
“What else do I have to learn?”
He knows what a (supposedly) romantic dinner is like. He knows how it feels to binge-watch stupid movies with someone who isn’t March (who isn’t family, like March). He knows how to give and receive gifts, to hold hands, and to exchange some goofy, sappy phrases.
What else is left?
“What about your first kiss?”
“Oh.”
Oh, Caelus says, and he fully understands the onslaught of emotion that overwhelms him. It’s wonder, followed by embarrassment and a curious glint.
“Sealing your first romantic experience with a kiss. It will make for a good story. So, what do you think?”
“…Okay.”
He might have mumbled that out way too quickly—quickly enough for Aventurine to catch on and laugh that peculiar, soft laugh of his. He tugs at his hand, pulling him closer, and suddenly Caelus is pressed flush against him, all too aware of his presence, his warmth, and his scent.
March was right, Aventurine’s cologne smells weird. Not unpleasant, though.
There is a chuckle above his ear, and Caelus snaps out of his brief reverie.
“Are you nervous? Try to relax.”
He dutifully tries, and he has to order his muscles to slacken, one by one, which is a surreal ordeal. It doesn’t calm his raging pulse. Aventurine’s face approaches his, and there is a flutter in Caelus' chest, one that reminds him of his very first (second) memory in this world as he opened his eyes to a rather handsome face.
It’s similar, but also different. More intense somehow.
Instinctively, Caelus closes his eyes.
Something warm nudges his lips, as though testing the waters. He moves his lips against that something in return. Hot air is blown all over his face in what sounds like a tender chuckle, and his mouth is covered by another mouth, and the other mouth is now moving, sweeping his along in a slow, rhythmic caress.
Rhythmic. He can do rhythmic. The distinct pattern appeases his erratic heartbeat, and Caelus eases into each motion. Aventurine’s mouth moves up, tugging at his upper lip. Caelus moves down, doing the same with his bottom lip. Aventurine’s mouth moves down, and he moves to meet it, and then it’s not so rhythmic but steady and warm and delicious all the same.
Aventurine hums approvingly. One of his hands comes to rest at the small of his back, slowly inching its way downwards. Caelus is about to yell something like Hey!... except, he’s forgotten they are still kissing, and his jaw hangs open against another jaw.
Instead of messing with their rhythm, it encourages Aventurine to push his tongue in. Caelus’ knees buckle. It’s a blur after that.
When they part, Caelus is breathless, and all he can remember are the loud smooching sounds and the depth of their kiss that was everywhere. He can still feel it in his lips, gums and even teeth.
Aventurine is more covert in his panting, but he is just as flushed as Caelus feels. He licks his lips with a smug grin, “How was it?”
“Kinda awesome.”
“Always happy to deliver,” he fakes a bow. “Ring me up whenever you want a repeat.”
“I thought we weren’t dating anymore?”
“Yeah, about that…” It must be the heat on his cheeks. Otherwise there is no way Aventurine manages to look bashful. “Hey. What do you say about trying to date for rea—”
“Caelus.”
Oh.
Caelus doesn’t say that oh, but it’s like his heart glitches out of existence for a second.
It’s Dan Heng’s voice, and Dan Heng is now here, just a few metres away from them. His face is red and he sounds winded, but in a way dissimilar to theirs. He looks dishevelled as though straight out of a marathon.
Caelus’ brain boots up again. Dan Heng was supposed to be on the Express. If he ran, does it mean he ran all the way from the station? How did he find them? Was he searching for him all over the city or did he see him by accident while passing—jogging?—by?
“Dan Heng,” Caelus says back, stupefied.
Then it pings.
He has seen their kiss just now, hasn’t he?
He meets Dan Heng’s eyes and regrets it.
“Out of all people to go on a date with… you chose him?”
“Why, hello to you too, Nameless,” Aventurine jeers in his favoured, cleverly impenetrable tone. He takes half a step before Caelus, one arm landing on Caelus’ shoulder and wrapping around it. Tight.
“I never told you I went on a date,” Caelus mutters. Then it dawns on him, “March…”
“She wasn’t… She didn’t tell me on purpose. I just… happened to learn.”
“Oooh, and you’ve come here to crash our outing?” Aventurine croons. Caelus jabs him in the ribs, and he emits a bratty whine before reverting to his savvy smile. “Are you jealous, lover boy?”
“No, really, why are you here?” Caelus interjects before an argument breaks out—Aventurine is great at starting those. “Is everything okay on the Express?”
Dan Heng nods. His head droops low.
“Why him? You… remember everything he did, right?”
“Listen, Dan Heng, it’s kinda not what it looks like…”
“He is nothing but trouble. He will get you in trouble.”
Aventurine’s arm curls around Caelus back—almost protectively if he were to describe the sensation.
“Do you truly know me that well? Are you certain you know what you are talking about?”
He stresses the second question, and Dan Heng visibly recoils, as though slapped across the face. Caelus would’ve also flinched if Aventurine wasn’t bracing him. It’s hypocritical of him, feeling pity for Dan Heng after he chided him for the same thing, but—
“I came on a whim,” Dan Heng blurts out. He is clearly addressing Caelus, pained gaze never straying from him. "Ever since that day, I’ve been telling myself that I will let you go… that you deserve someone who will cherish you for you, as you put it. And yet, when March told me you were seeing someone, I—”
His voice cracks at the end. He threads a hand through his tousled dark hair, a noisy exhale escaping through his nostrils.
“Dan Heng—”
“Perhaps there was someone in Dan Feng’s past,” he cuts Caelus off. He never cuts people off, and it’s like a punch to the head—one of those uppercuts that leave you reeling and raving and thinking that your jaw fell off. “Perhaps he loved them. Perhaps I remember how he loved them. I don’t know. I truly don’t know.
“But I know for a fact that I never felt anything like this,” he gestures widely, either at everything or at nothing in particular. “I heard you, loud and clear. I thought you had every right to be upset with me. And yet… I can’t get you out of my head. This feeling that blooms within me whenever you are concerned… it might be an echo of Dan Feng, but I want to perceive it as my own. I want to try loving you for you… I think I already do.”
He takes another shuddering breath, and the promenade rumbles like a previously motionless film that returns to action. Beeps of passing cars, jolly tunes from a neighbouring alley, the thunder of Caelus’ heart—it all bursts inside his ears in a discordant crescendo, like that final part of the earlier kiss when nothing was right but felt the rightest it could ever be.
Caelus… is at a loss for words. He goggles at Dan Heng, desperately seeking a hint on how to respond.
A moment. A fraction of a moment. Dan Heng blinks, as though awakened from a trance.
“I… I’m sorry. It’s… untoward of me to… to pour it all on you like this…”
“Dan Heng, I…”
“I've got to go.”
Dan Heng storms away, expertly dashing into the shadows. His white coat is but a streak of pale grey, like seafoam drowning in a murky ocean.
“Well, that was… something,” Aventurine mutters blithely. “Running away after all that? Pretty cowardly, if you ask me.”
There is a grunt in his voice, a slight grit of teeth as he ordains his smile to linger. He almost sounds nervous, and Caelus would’ve dwelt on that, but his body acts pre-emptively, wringing itself free from his embrace. He sprints to the turn where the promenade transforms into an alley. Said alley leads to the main street, and the road is forked there, offering all pedestrians to either loop the premises or head towards the jungle of the big city.
Dan Heng is nowhere to be seen. Not nearby and not in the alley. It means he’s already where it’s crowded and hustling and hard to see anything—he might as well be invisible, having truly evaporated into the night.
And knowing Dan Heng, he won’t return to the Express until much later. He'll sequester himself in a hidden crevasse to bemoan his hasty behaviour. Penacony is no Luofu, a giant of a city compared to a city-shaped ship, but if all the affairs and truths found on the Xianzhou amount to anything, Caelus thinks he has a vague idea where Dan Heng might be.
He glances back at Aventurine, still frozen in the circle of light, eyes watching him, figure lonesome. Their conversation is far from over, and his lips are still warm from their kiss. A part of him doesn’t want to go. It wants to trot back, ask Aventurine to finish what he was saying, and perhaps arrange for their next meeting, friends or lovers, it shouldn’t matter to him. It’s the same part that preened at every gift, trembled when they kissed, and never truly hated the prospect of wearing that stupid white outfit.
Another part of him relives the anguish from the day Dan Heng confessed, pleading with him to give chase. The invisible barbed wire that never left the space beside his throat might just cut into his flesh if he missteps, mistakenly follows the man he has no business following. It’s the same part that was his companion ever since their first meeting, but also encouraged Caelus to reject Dan Heng’s feelings, insular and frail and hurtful as it was. It repents now, weeping pathetically. Caelus doesn’t know how to shut it up.
He stands at the crossroad, one junction separating him from choosing his path. He either makes a turn or ignores it. His doubts, reflections and expectations all unite in this exact moment to guide him to that something that will finally complete the pit in his heart.
Once that clicks in place, Caelus’ mind is made in an instant.