Work Text:
Maomao waited for Jinshi to look up from the stacks of papers littered on his desk. His robes were smooth and uncreased, his dark hair pinned atop his head perfectly.
And yet, his eyes looked bloodshot, lips slightly chapped. His shoulders were slumped over from exhaustion.
What a curious creature, he stood just a step from being atop the nation but overworked himself like he was just another faceless bureaucrat.
She bowed when he straightened up, before his eyes finally focused on her. Immediately, he slouched back over but his eyes honest to god sparkled. His pale cheeks flushed with happiness.
Dangerous. Someone weaker might've kneeled over.
Maomao didn't wait for him to speak before she started her report. A story aligned perfectly from start to end, backed up by cold hard proof. Well, that is until—
"Yes yes, whatever you say next is conjecture. It shouldn't be taken as the absolute truth. Out with it!"
Maomao bowed again, "Just that, we should probably keep an eye on"—what was her name, again?—"uh, the lady-in-waiting. Sir."
"You know, I can't help but notice the gap between your sentences and 'sir' keeps increasing," he teased. When had Suiren and Basen left?
He rested his elbow on the desk and smushed his cheek against his palm. Taomei would've had his head. Not before she skinned Maomao, though. Truly dangerous.
"Sir, I apologise. Sir."
"That wasn't a suggestion!" His voice sounded suspiciously close to whining. "You can just get rid of the..." His voice disappeared in a frustrated murmur.
"I'm not particularly suicidal, sir." Yes, she wished to die by poison, but she also wished that it would be somewhere in the far future. Until then, it was preferable to almost-die by poison.
"Just say it," he implored. Jinshi looked annoyed, but there was something else in his eyes. She chose to ignore it. "Just once. Just my name. No titles." She was going to ignore it.
"Is that an order, sir?" She sort of regretted it the moment she said it. The curious creature was particularly sensitive to being reminded of his position. Then again, it wasn't like she was wrong.
His face fell for a second before straightened up and smiled his signature eunuch smile. The perfectly unnecessary amount of untouchable nymph, and magnanimous flower-handler of the palace.
He reminded her of a courtesan putting on her best face amidst a particularly callous patron. What was that about?
"Of course not. I'm sure you're tired, you came here right after work, didn't you? I'll let you take your leave, then." He didn't wait for her to answer before turning back to his papers.
Right. She bowed and turned to leave. Suiren was standing right outside looking strangely disappointed.
"Well then, Xiaomao, it's late isn't it? I thought you'd stay for dinner," she put a hand to her mouth. "Wait a moment, I'll pack you some."
She had already had dinner, but Maomao couldn't refuse Suiren's cooking. She stood awkwardly in the hallway. Basen continued standing like a statue. Maomao looked at him. He stared straight ahead.
Ah, what the hell am I doing? For some reason her legs started moving on their own. That got him to move. "Hey, what the hell are you doing?"
Maomao ignored him and walked back towards Jinshi's chambers. There was a crash behind her before—"Go right ahead, Miss Maomao! Miss Chue will handle her darling little brother-in-law!"
She didn't know whether to thank the chirpy voice or whether to deny everything. Her legs still kept moving on their own.
Perhaps she ate some unrecorded mushrooms?
She opened the door and walked in. Unannounced. Maybe she truly had something wrong with her.
This couldn't be blamed on exhaustion from being lugged halfway across the Western Capital and performing an emergency surgery, could it?
"Suiren, I told you to not let—"
"Master Jinshi."
"Maomao?" He got up and nearly sprinted towards her. "Is there something wrong?" He stopped an appropriate distance away.
That's exactly what she'd like to know. But all she said was, "no."
"Are you sure? Is it about the case?" He didn't move. Just stood there. Appropriate distance away.
"No," she repeated. Then, she moved half a step closer. And another, and another. Till they were standing face to face. Or well, more accurately, face to chest.
"Maomao?" He said, again. It seemed that her name was all he could say.
She rested her forehead against him. He stiffened.
"What was that?" Stupid man. Stupid man.
She repeated herself, "I'm sorry."
"Maomao, I'm sorry, you're gonna have to speak up—"
"I'm sorry."
A pause.
"What for?" His voice sounded faint. He smelled like sandalwood and jasmine. His chest vibrated with every word, moved with every breath. "Maomao, please. What for?"
She didn't say anything. He tried to pull away. She gripped his robes. He pulled away anyway, and tilted her chin up with his index finger. His nail was blunt and his skin was smooth.
A moment passed, then two. She buried her face back in his chest. "Oh, Maomao..." He was so stupid. She was so stupid.
His arms came around her, one hand smoothing down her shoulder blades and going back up lightly and the other buried itself in her hair. Jasmine and sandalwood.
She didn't know how long they stood there, how long he just held her in his arms.
When she looked up though, the sky was much darker. She looked down. His robes were slightly wet were she had rested her head. Did she truly sweat that much?
She looked back up. His eyes looked slightly misty. He must've have been extremely tired.
"You really should rest more." Her voice felt slightly hoarse, her throat was dry.
He smiled and huffed, "I will." Like this, in front of the dark sky, it was easy to mistake him for the actual moon. "You should be resting too, you know, it's late. I'll ask Suiren to prepare your old room for you."
She hummed dispassionately. Then pointed to the table. There, two robes—of very different sizes—were folded neatly, not a single crease out of place. She started drily, "It seems she had other plans, si-" she closed her mouth.
He sighed, "When did she even...," but his brightness didn't dim. She felt like it was infecting her. Maybe his "charging" truly had something to it?
"Don't worry about it," he continued. His face had flushed.
"As you said, si— ahem" what was she supposed to call him? "—it's late. Shouldn't we let her rest? There's plenty of space here..."
His blush deepened, but, he didn't waiver. "Ah, right, of course. I can rest on the—"
"Plenty of space on the bed, s... uh." He looked like a very ripe tomato. Her face felt slightly warm, summer was truly treacherous this time. "Of course, I wouldn't dream of imposing—"
"YOU CAN REST HERE." He handed her the sleeping robes and gestured towards the changing screen. He covered his mouth with his other hand. His unfairly pretty pink lips peeked past his long fingers. She went.
She took her time and then some to change. The robes smelled like him. Hopefully he now knew how to dress himself.
Her knees felt strangely weak. Who knows if she could handle his beauty at its full strength right now?
Maomao peeked past the screen. Thankfully, he was fully clothed. He was fidgeting with his belt, and his face was still red.
Maomao walked towards the bed with all the confidence she possessed, which was tragically little. It wasn't like anything was going to happen—he would make sure of that—and even if it did, it wasn't like she wasn't prepared. After all, this was the second time she approached his bed.
He stood up ramrod straight. "What-" his voice cracked. Maomao tried to hide her amusement. Turns out, he was doing much worse.
He cleared his throat and restarted, "Where would you like to sleep?" Two options: inside or outside. She could just pick one.
Instead, she decided to tweak him. "How would you like me?" She purred.
He paled. Then his face reddened again. That couldn't be good for his circulation.
"Mercy," he wheezed. Right. She climbed on and laid down against the wall. Then turned towards him.
Maybe this was a bad idea. He looked like he was going to collapse.
"The inside? You sure?"
"You did say I could pick," she reminded him. She was going to move over when he joined her on.
Well, that was that.
Jinshi lied down face up. His eyes could burn holes through the ceiling. His entire body was stiff.
She shuffled closer and curled up next to him. Was this guy a man or a rock? He breathed out heavily.
"You can't get someone pregnant by sleeping next to them."
He made a choked noise but rolled over to face her anyway. If she didn't know any better, she'd think he was constipated.
He glowed in the moonlight—like his earthly vessel made a connection with his true essence. His eyelashes cast a shadow on his cheekbones.
The scar everyone mourned about glimmered like shining silver. She pressed her palm to his cheek, tracing the mark with her middle finger. He eyes fluttered shut. The tension left his body.
Looking at him like this, her hand on his face diminished his beauty far more than the scar given to him by another flower ever could.
And yet... He looked so happy. A sight that could ruin nations, for what? Her scarred and blemished hand on his face?
He pressed a kiss to her wrist and smiled wide.
And for just this moment, she forgot of molten metal and tepid water. Her skin on his, and his skin on hers. Not too warm, not too cold. Equilibrium.
She closed her eyes.