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“Describe it for me,” Jiaoqiu requests softly, knowing that he isn’t truly alone.
For a long moment, there’s no sound in response save for the rustle of leaves. It’s as if Jiaoqiu is standing by the railing by himself, accompanied only by the distant sound of waves and the wind through the trees.
Eventually, there is a faint presence at his side and Moze speaks.
“... It’s cloudy.”
Jiaoqiu laughs, and his laugh is all that sounds out in the scant space between them. Only the brush of Moze’s sleeve against his tells Jiaoqiu that he is not alone.
“They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so surely the scenery is worth more than two,” Jiaoqiu says, teasing. He grins, knowing full well that words come harder to Moze than himself. Even so, he can’t help but lilt his voice into playfulness as he asks, “Will you try again, Moze? For me?”
The sleeve brushing his own shifts, and when it settles, it’s ever so slightly closer. Jiaoqiu doesn’t truly expect a response, but -
“I will,” Moze says.
Moze’s voice is nearly carried away by the breeze, but the softness of his tone speaks volumes more than what he says.
-—-
The rain pitter-patters against the tiled roof with so many tiny, rapidfire percussion points that it turns into an incessant pulse above Jiaoqiu, waxing and waning with the wind.
Each breeze that blows through the open window brings a fine mist and the fresh scent of rain and greenery. Even muted beneath the smell of a brewing storm, the air in the Alchemy Commission carries the distinct tang of herbs. Surely it is gray outside. That large tree near Jiaoqiu’s room is probably swaying to and fro, the canopy shifting with the swell of the storm, leaves dancing on the branches.
The sound of the rain is interrupted only by a purposeful tap of a shoe against the floor from the far side of the room.
“Moze,” Jiaoqiu says in greeting. He turns towards the sound, listening to the intermittent steps approaching. He can nearly hear the frown on Moze’s face when he stops in front of Jiaoqiu, pauses, and then reaches around him to close the window. Even this close, even purposefully revealing himself, Jiaoqiu can barely feel Moze’s presence. As soon as the latch clicks, quiet blankets the room, muffling the sounds outside.
“You were getting wet,” Moze says, and a moment later, a clean, soft towel passes over Jiaoqiu’s cheek. Just once - just barely - and then Moze holds it still. The fibers tickle Jiaoqiu’s skin and the faint scent of clean cotton wafts from the towel. “Take it.”
“Ah, my thanks,” Jiaoqiu says with a smile, taking it and patting his face dry. The outer robe he had been instructed to wear in the colder weather is damp, now that he thinks about it. With the window closed, though, Jiaoqiu is sure he’ll warm up soon. Carefully, he shrugs out of his outer robe and opens the towel, draping it around his shoulders instead. “What brings you here?”
“Your window was open.” Moze says it as if it’s obvious, and Jiaoqiu’s smile grows. Of course. No doubt the moment Moze saw the open window letting the rain into the room, he’d slipped into the building. They both know he’s here out of concern and care - not that he’d say as much - and the way he silently takes the damp outer robe from Jiaoqiu only supports the thought.
Jiaoqiu laughs quietly, then makes his way back to the bed. Even the practiced few steps across the room winds him, each breath feeling raw in his weakened body, and once he sits on the bed, drawing his tail around him and into his lap, he lets out a little sigh of relief. The room is silent save for the stifled storm outside, but Jiaoqiu knows Moze is still here.
Jiaoqiu lets the silence stretch on for a long moment as he lifts the corner of the towel to wipe away a stray drop of water. “Well, if you won’t agree to me standing by the window, perhaps you could tell me what it’s like out there,” he says after a while, tilting his head towards the closed window.
Moze doesn’t reply right away, nor does he make any noise. Eventually, his voice floats just barely above the thrumming of the rain outside. “It’s cloudy. And raining.”
“Yes, I gathered as much. I suppose four words are an improvement over two.” Jiaoqiu laughs, and this time he does hear Moze shift, just the barest rustle of fabric that Jiaoqiu’s ear swivels towards instinctively. He gives Moze a moment of mercy before turning in his direction, and this time, when he asks his question he keeps his voice quiet instead of playful. “Give me a little more?”
“... The … It’s windy.” Moze takes a moment to speak, and when he finally does, his words come haltingly. He shifts again, but Jiaoqiu doesn’t rush him. He’s trying, for Jiaoqiu, and that in and of itself brings a soft smile to his face. “The rain falls slanted when the wind blows. It’s dark and gray.”
“Hmm,” Jiaoqiu hums contentedly, pulling the towel off his shoulders and folding it. He sets it aside and runs his fingers through his tail, fluffing out the slightly damp fur. “Better. We’ll count that as fourteen.”
Moze lets out a little exhale, just the barest hint of a breath, and Jiaoqiu knows it’s something between exasperation and amusement. He just lets out a little laugh of his own, smile still on his face.
Again the silence stretches on, punctuated only by the soothing constant sound of rain against the rooftops and the swell of the wind. Jiaoqiu sits still for a long moment, letting the sounds surround him, until he hears the tap of Moze’s shoe come closer. When he turns towards the sound, he can sense Moze hesitating before a clean, dry outer robe drapes around his shoulders. He tenses for a moment when the fabric drops over him, but relaxes when the familiar weight of the cloth settles.
“Thank you,” Jiaoqiu says, and he means it. He keeps his voice low; Jiaoqiu doesn’t know how close Moze is standing, but it feels right to keep the words in the space between them.
Just when Jiaoqiu begins to think that Moze has slipped out again, as he is wont to do, he replies, just as quietly. “... You’re welcome.”
-—-
The rainstorm lasts several days. Before it has fully subsided, Jiaoqiu finds his window latch jammed shut. Before it has fully subsided, Jiaoqiu finds a thermos of a warm herbal tea sitting on the table by the closed window. When he opens it, it smells like something he remembers from his strolls through Central Starskiff Haven.
When he tastes it, the herbs are mild and soothing. The taste is softer and sweeter than what he usually likes to drink, but somehow the warm tea goes down easily and soothes the heaviness in his chest. The scent is similar enough to the greenery outside that he doesn’t feel quite so stifled in his room.
-—-
The next time Moze finds Jiaoqiu, Jiaoqiu doesn’t notice at first.
He hears the tell-tale tap of Moze’s shoe against the pavement, but it doesn’t register separately from the distant chatter of the Alchemy Commission beyond the little courtyard he’s sitting in. Jiaoqiu is too immersed in regulating his breathing and feeling the warmth of the morning sun permeate his body, chasing away the lingering wetness from his medicinal bath. The scent of herbal remedies still clings to his damp hair and outer robes, and his heart is still hammering in his chest from the exertion of simply bathing and dragging himself out to sit on a bench.
The sudden presence beside him startles Jiaoqiu; he tenses, tail twitching, ears flicking, and turns towards the person too quickly. The movement rips a cough from his lips and sends a throbbing bolt of pain though his chest.
“It’s me,” Moze says, his voice quiet but tinged with apology all the same.
Ah … It is.
Jiaoqiu exhales, the breath stuttering through his lungs, and rests a hand on his chest. He smiles in Moze’s direction, trying to keep the strain from his voice and expression as he laughs it off. “Haha, you startled me,” he says, and there is a breathlessness that he can’t completely hide.
Moze says nothing for a long moment, but he doesn’t erase his presence. Instead, he steps closer, hovering just beside Jiaoqiu, as if hesitating to speak. Jiaoqiu simply pats the empty space beside him on the stone bench, and after another pause, Moze takes his silent invitation. Jiaoqiu can barely hear him sit down.
“Here,” Moze says, unprompted. He shifts, and Jiaoqiu hears the gentle clink of ice cubes.
When Jiaoqiu lifts his hands in confusion, Moze presses a cold drink into them. It’s a takeout cup, though the middle is wrapped in a thin cloth to prevent the condensation from dripping down the sides. Jiaoqiu carefully guides the straw to his face, just under his nose. It smells somewhat familiar and similar to the tea Moze brought him last time, but stronger. “What is it?”
“Black tea,” Moze says. Jiaoqiu expects him to leave it at that, and he just hums before taking a sip. The black tea is a mild blend, but it’s still strong enough that Jiaoqiu can taste the notes of malt in its rich, earthy flavor profile. “I … thought you might be tired of nothing but herbal drinks.”
Jiaoqiu raises his head, surprised, then his expression melts into a smile. “How considerate,” he says, resisting the urge to deflect further. Moze isn’t the type to offer superficial pity, but this type of overt care is new from him. It doesn’t feel any different from the way he’s always guarded General Feixiao and Jiaoqiu’s backs, though, it feels …
That’s what it is - it’s the same feeling that Jiaoqiu always had when he glanced out the window and caught sight of the familiar dark coat and smelled the barest hint of his familiar scent. It’s the same feeling as seeing the edge of a shadow or hearing the faintest footstep against stone and knowing it means safety.
Jiaoqiu laughs quietly, holding his forehead with one hand and the cup of iced black tea with the other. Is that what it is? Is that what Moze is doing - and is he doing it on purpose? It isn’t like Jiaoqiu can examine his expression for answers, nor can he look for hints of Moze among the crowds, out the window, on the rooftops.
But he supposes he doesn’t need to, since Moze is coming to him. Maybe that’s the point.
“It’s … busy. Here, today.”
Jiaoqiu raises his head, turning in Moze’s direction in surprise. When he perks his ears and listens, he’s right - the Alchemy Commission is thrumming with activity. The chatter of people going about their day on the other side of the little courtyard rises above the walls. More important, though, is Moze’s willingness to initiate small talk. How unusual.
Moze shifts awkwardly beside Jiaoqiu, the fabric of his pant leg brushing against Jiaoqiu’s briefly from the motion. “You kept asking me to describe the surroundings to you,” he says, in answer to Jiaoqiu’s unspoken question. There is a slightly defensive tone to his voice, but Jiaoqiu knows it’s just embarrassment. It’s endearing to hear him step outside his comfort zone like this, and for Jiaoqiu’s sake no less.
“Mhm,” Jiaoqiu hums in agreement, then knocks his knee against Moze’s lightly. He keeps it pressed there, just the barest touch connecting them. Moze stiffens, but doesn’t move away. Jiaoqiu keeps his voice soft, as if speaking too loudly would break the delicate moment being spun between them. “What else?”
For a moment, Moze is silent. Jiaoqiu waits patiently, listening to chatter of the crowd rise and fall, and the warm, gentle breeze that rustles through the tree above him. “... The flow of the crowd is regular and predictable. Mostly healers and merchants. There are more outworlders than usual.”
At this, Jiaoqiu laughs. “How very like you,” he says, and it is a compliment. Warmth seeps into his voice. That’s how Moze sees the world, after all - through the lens of his position as General Feixiao’s Shadow Guard.
Moze lets out a near-silent breath, almost like a sigh, before he shifts again. He presses his knee ever so slightly closer to Jiaoqiu’s, as if asking for his attention. Jiaoqiu is more than happy to oblige, quieting his laughter and waiting.
“It’s also … sunny. The sky is clear and blue. There are just a few, fluffy clouds.” Moze coughs, like he’s buying time to try to gather his thoughts. “This tree you’re under has a full, green canopy. The sunlight …” Moze pauses, as if trying to remember something, and Jiaoqiu doesn’t interrupt. “It filters through the leaves. Translucent gold.”
With that, Moze stops talking. Though he doesn’t move, Jiaoqiu can sense the tension in the way his knee is pressed against his. Jiaoqiu just laughs again, fondly, and decides to be indulgent; he lets out a long, shuddering breath, finally remembering the tightness in his chest, and leans against Moze’s side.
“That was much better,” Jiaoqiu murmurs, when Moze does not move away or push up back. The distraction was more than welcome - medicinal baths take a lot out of him, particularly since he isn’t supposed to get the large wounds across his chest wet. Each inhale feels like Jiaoqiu is trying to catch his breath, and his limbs feel heavy. But the sunlight has warmed him, and the cold drink in his hand is soothing.
More than that, though, is the ever-reliable person at his side. Moze stays still and silent, but he doesn’t try to keep his presence hidden; for the first time in a while, Jiaoqiu can fully sense Moze beside him. He can hear his heartbeat, hear the flow of his breath, pick up his unique, clean scent … and, of course, feel Moze’s warmth at his side.
-—-
“Moze? Is there something you needed?”
Jiaoqiu senses Moze’s presence as soon as he steps into the room, which is unusual. Even more unusual is that Moze does not move or speak, despite revealing himself to Jiaoqiu with a footstep and unmasked breathing.
When Moze still doesn’t do anything, Jiaoqiu considers getting out of bed - but as soon as he shifts to push the covers back, Moze walks to his side. Jiaoqiu tilts his head up in Moze’s direction, concerned. “Is everything alright?”
“I found a book,” Moze says, and there is an unusual nervous tension in his voice. Jiaoqiu braces himself for bad news; perhaps some new medical text that says his afflictions are incurable, or sentences him to a lifetime of suffering from the Lupitoxins, or something that says he can never remain by General Feixiao and Moze’s sides, or -
“It’s a … travelogue. Or part of it. I was … I could read it to you. If you wanted.”
“... A travelogue?” Jiaoqiu repeats, his train of thought utterly derailed. If that’s the case, it probably isn’t anything life-changing. But Moze wants to read it to him? Jiaoqiu should just accept the kindness and see where it goes, but he can’t help asking, “Why?”
Fabric shifts and Moze steps closer, perhaps shrugging. “I found it and I thought … You asked me before to tell you things I saw.”
That does make sense, he supposes. A little, relieved laugh escapes Jiaoqiu in a puff of air. So it was just Moze being kind in this new, somewhat awkward way of his. Well, far be it from him to turn down such an offer. Moze’s voice is always rich and soothing to listen to, when he speaks. It’s nothing short of a treat to be freely given the gift of hearing him more often.
“I’d like that,” Jiaoqiu says, softly. He hears a little exhale, and then Moze is moving around, placing a chair at Jiaoqiu’s bedside and then fussing with something - tea, by the smell of it. A moment later, he presses a warm cup into Jiaoqiu’s hands. When he raises it to his nose, it has that same, familiar scent - this time more floral, likely a white tea. The tea itself is smooth and subtle, almost velvety. It’s some kind of floral tea, with a light taste and body. “This is good,” Jiaoqiu says absently, cradling the cup in both hands. “Thank you.”
Moze just hums, and then Jiaoqiu hears him open the book and flip through a couple of pages. He doesn’t start right away, instead settling on a page and sitting in silence for a long moment. Perhaps he’s still embarrassed. Jiaoqiu waits patiently, sipping the floral tea.
“‘... And after I said my goodbyes, I left the Asdana star system. Of all the planets I visited during my travels to my next destination, I remember these the most vividly.’” Moze reads at a steady pace, each word feeling deliberate in the way he says it. Jiaoqiu smiles and leans back against his pillows, taking a sip of his tea and feeling somewhat spoiled.
There’s a little pause as Moze seems to be gathering his thoughts, and then he continues to speak. His voice is low and his tone is stable, if a little tense. Shy, maybe?
“The first planet is a hollow one where only pieces of the crust remained, loosely connected into a planet’s shape. There is only empty sky where the sea and earth would be, and the people there live on these floating, fractured lands. A web of energy condensed into stars and small suns rotate in the sky above, making off-planet travel difficult. But from the edge of those lands, you can see a galaxy above and a vast empty 'sky' below. The birds are the true masters of this planet; free to soar clear across from land to land as they please. Their feathers flash in every bright color, glinting gold, silver, and gemstone-edged under the energy stars and sun.”
Moze pauses briefly, as if gaging Jiaoqiu’s reaction. He can see it in his mind - the way the wind must blow freely through the open planet, the gravity-defying structures in a reversal of most planets, the glinting of the light off the mystical birds’ feathers. Jiaoqiu smiles and nods encouragingly, and after another beat, Moze resumes.
“The sky of the second planet is covered entirely by thick canopies of tall trees that grow high across the planet. The leaves grow so densely that even heavy rainfall doesn’t make it to the ground; instead, the water collects on the leaves and falls down in waterfalls wherever there are gaps in the leaves. The ground is covered with large, thick roots, and only the many lanterns light the dim land beneath the trees. Each lantern is a different make, crafted in all shapes and sizes, lighting paths through the roots and trees and reflecting off the ribbons of water falling from the treetops.”
Jiaoqiu can picture this, too - the damp, dim atmosphere beneath the thick canopy of trees, the heavy but comforting smell of earth and rain. It must be important to keep a contained fire burning, away from the moisture in the air. There must be unique difficulties in living somewhere with perpetual dampness when it rains - but there must also be unique herbs and mushrooms that grow in such a place.
“The third planet, by comparison, is flat. The endless plains are filled with high grass and blooming wildflowers. The people are nomadic, traveling beneath the three moons along the well-trodden paths where the grass is pressed flat from other groups’ passage. They travel with pack animals; with deer-like steeds with curling antlers and reddish fur, two-headed canines, a flock of sheep that hover just above the ground. There’s a weightlessness to their movements, as if gravity is weaker. Their clothing is hand-sewn, earthy colors and deliberate, flowing patterns, heavy to keep them warm against the chill of the long nights.”
Moze trails to a stop, clearing his throat ever so softly, and only then does Jiaoqiu shake himself out of the descriptions, grounding himself from the impression of roaming free under the unobscured sky and across grasslands that stretch on and on past the distant horizon. He can hear Moze shift slightly, as if self-conscious, and Jiaoqiu just smiles.
“Thank you, Moze,” he says, earnestly. He really means it - what a thoughtful gesture, and what a rare privilege to hear Moze speak so much. His steady, rich voice is more than pleasing to the ear, and the measured way he spoke made it easy for Jiaoqiu to sink into the imagery, letting it flash through his mind’s eye.
“You’re welcome,” Moze says, after a moment. There’s a hint of tension in his voice, one that Jiaoqiu has learned to associate with bashfulness. How cute. Jiaoqiu hears him set the book down on his bedside table and stand.
“... Finish your tea,” Moze says, after another stretch of silence. Jiaoqiu just smiles and remains turned in his direction, obediently taking a long sip. The flavors he can pick out are herbs and flowers meant to promote health, containing antioxidants and other beneficial properties.
“I will,” Jiaoqiu says. A comfortable quiet falls over the room as Moze erases his presence again, but when he leaves, he lets the door of Jiaoqiu’s room click closed softly.
-—-
Feixiao comes to visit Jiaoqiu later that day, her loud presence an entertaining contrast to Moze’s near-silent entry and exit.
She stands close to Jiaoqiu’s bedside, speaking just as animatedly as always, as if intent on single-handedly infusing the room with her energy. She is successful more often than not, and Jiaoqiu happily allows himself to be swept into the tide of her conversation.
When Jiaoqiu reaches over to set his now-empty teacup down, he accidentally knocks the travelogue off the bedside table. It clatters to the floor with a dull thump, hitting Feixiao’s leg on the way.
“Oh?” Feixiao stops mid-sentence, instead shifting to pick it up off the floor. Jiaoqiu hears her turn the book over.
“Ah, apologies - Moze was reading to me.” He smiles at the memory, though it hasn’t been very long at all. “Would you help me put it back on the table?”
“Was he? That’s sweet of him,” Feixiao says absently. Jiaoqiu can hear the flipping of pages as she opens the book, then she pauses, confusion evident in her voice when she speaks again. “What was he reading? These are only pictures.”
What? Jiaoqiu frowns as his thoughts race through the implications of Feixiao’s words. “Are you certain? There are no descriptions on the backsides?”
Feixiao flips to another page. “There’s about a paragraph of introduction, but no - this looks like it’s just a part of something longer. It’s more like an album.”
Surely that has to be wrong. The amount of description was on par with a storyteller -
A storyteller. The tea Moze has been bringing him. The Sleepless Earl -
“I’m sorry, General,” Jiaoqiu says abruptly, flinging the blanket off and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He must move too quickly, because Feixiao takes a quick step towards him, but once he’s steady on his feet she stops. “Do you see Moze? I think he - I need to talk to him.”
Feixiao is quiet for a moment before laughing, bright and pleased. “So that’s it - I’m sure you do! I saw him outside when I came in, he’s probably still around.” She presses the travelogue into Jiaoqiu’s hands and carefully drapes an outer robe around his shoulders, squeezing his arm lightly. “Go, Jiaoqiu. I’ll see you later.”
“Thank you,” Jiaoqiu says in a rushed breath, holding the travelogue close to his chest and walking as quickly as he dares to leave the room. The warm midday sun washes over him as soon as he steps outside.
“Moze!” Jiaoqiu calls his name when he doesn’t sense his presence. A beat later, he’s rewarded with a familiar, deliberate tap of a shoe against the pavement. He barely waits for Moze to get closer, instead turning towards him and letting his words tumble out of him. “You … You weren’t reading to me. General Feixiao said there were only pictures in that book. So you …”
Moze is quiet as he approaches with an unhurried pace. He stops in front of Jiaoqiu, a half step closer than normal. “I was only describing the images,” he says, matter-of-factly. “You asked me to, remember?”
“Yes, and I’m grateful, but …” Jiaoqiu sighs, taking a deep breath to keep the tightness in his chest at bay. Moze waits patiently for him to recover, and for once, Jiaoqiu isn’t entirely sure what to say. So he laughs, keeping his tone light and teasing, pulling the conversation back towards their normal banter. “Haha, well, you’ve certainly gotten much better at it. It sounded like you’ve been to those places yourself. You haven’t been sneaking out on planetary tours, have you?”
“No.” And, of course, Moze does not take the out. He answers with his typical seriousness, the single word heavy with deliberate meaning. Just when Jiaoqiu thinks that Moze will end the conversation with that, he speaks again.
“But if those places still exist …” Moze hesitates, his voice trailing off. He sounds open and honest in a way Jiaoqiu has hardly ever heard from him before, his voice quiet with trepidation. “I want to visit them. With you.”
Ah.
Moze speaks his desire so plainly that Jaioqiu feels knocked off balance. He flounders for a response; is he reading too much into Moze’s words, or does it sound like … “Moze, I …”
“General Feixiao and I will find a cure for you, but with or without your sight doesn’t matter,” Moze continues, his voice picking up conviction, as if he’s found his stride. The way he says it is even and earnest, and Jaioqiu can tell he really, truly means it. “If you can’t see, I will simply describe it for you.”
Jiaoqiu laughs, and it sounds nervous, even to him. When he speaks, his voice comes out quietly, just above a whisper. “What a bold statement. Those places you described are awfully far, you know - surely you’d like to rethink such a promise.”
“I do not.” Moze’s reply comes immediately, and there is something raw in his tone, as if he is pulling back his own walls and painstakingly speaking from a place of vulnerability in a way so unlike how he is normally. “Wherever it may be, if you are there, that makes it worthwhile.”
Jiaoqiu flounders for a response for a second, before forcing himself to speak. He refuses to let Moze’s words hang in the air for too long, but uncertainty flutters in his chest. “... Well. That almost sounds like a confession.”
“I thought you liked these roundabout ways of phrasing things, Jiaoqiu,” Moze says. There is a hint of laughter in his voice. “Surely you’ve figured it out?”
Jiaoqiu smiles, the tension in his chest beginning to untangle. “Spell it out for me.”
“It’s a confession,” Moze says, his voice dropping to something so soft it’s almost a whisper. He steps forward, hovering close enough to touch, but staying just far enough that Jiaoqiu could back away if he wanted to. There is a slight tremor to his voice, just like when he started to “read” to Jiaoqiu. “I want to be by your side. Will you allow me?”
Jiaoqiu laughs, breathless, at the honesty. He clutches the travelogue close to him with one hand, and raises the other towards the sound of Moze’s heartbeat, pressing a palm to his chest and feeling the rapid thrumming through his shirt. Moze shifts slightly, but instead of pulling away, he covers Jiaoqiu’s hand with his own. There is a slight tremble to his hand, and Jiaoqiu just smiles up at him. “What are you being shy for, now?”
Moze groans quietly, fingers closing tighter around Jiaoqiu’s. “Jiaoqiu …” There is a hint of complaint to Moze’s tone, just barely, and Jiaoqiu can picture his expression. Surely it’s the same one he gets when Jiaoqiu teases him too much - brows pulled together, lips pressed in something just shy of a frown, but accompanied by the faint blush against the pale skin of his cheeks.
“My answer is yes, of course,” Jiaoqiu says softly. A warm breeze plays with his hair, and Moze reaches out with his free hand to brush Jiaoqiu’s bangs from his eyes and the errant strands behind his ear. His touch is light and delicate, hesitant as if he isn’t sure he’s allowed to. Jiaoqiu tilts his head into Moze’s hand and then up, towards his face.
When Moze doesn’t move, keeping his hand against Jiaoqiu’s cheek, Jiaoqiu lets out a little huff of a laugh. His tail swishes once, belying his own nerves, and then he purposefully flicks his ears to get Moze’s attention. “Well, Moze?” Jiaoqiu keeps his voice quiet, just above a whisper, like a secret shared in the scant space between them. “Is there anything else you’d like to do, while we’re standing here like this?”
Moze exhales softly in that not-sighing way of his, and his breath ghosts over Jiaoqiu’s lips. He is close - close enough that Jiaoqiu can smell the clean, faintly herbal scent that he normally obscures so well. If Moze won’t take that final step, then Jiaoqiu will.
Carefully, slowly, just in case Moze wants to pull back, Jiaoqiu raises up on tip-toe towards Moze. Moze does not move, nor does he let go of Jiaoqiu’s hand; but when Jiaoqiu’s lips brush against him, he only catches the corner of Moze’s mouth. Another breathless laugh escapes Jiaoqiu, and he lowers back to the ground with a grin. “I think you’re going to have to help me out,” he says, teasing.
Instead of replying, Moze’s thumb brushes gently over the rise of Jiaoqiu’s cheek and then he leans in, kissing Jiaoqiu softly. The press of his lips is tender, almost hesitant, but the way he lingers is as if he can’t bear to draw back.
When they part, however, Jiaoqiu doesn’t bother trying to conceal the smile on his face. He hopes there is an echoing expression on Moze’s, and he wishes he could see it.
“You’re blushing,” Moze says, a moment later. There is amusement in his voice, but also something close to fascination.
Jiaoqiu laughs, and for once, his chest does not feel heavy with fatigue - just full of affection. “I know,” he says, attempting to ignore the heat in his cheeks, and Moze easily supports his weight when he leans against him. “If you want to keep describing things to me, how about you tell me what your expression looks like right now?”
Moze just huffs, something close to a laugh, and steals another quick kiss. “I’m smiling,” he says softly, almost indulgently. Jiaoqiu hadn’t expected Moze to actually give him a real answer. “I’m sure I’m also blushing. As for the rest, the way I look at you … You’ll have to see for yourself once we find a cure.”
Jiaoqiu’s breath catches, surprised at the reply. He didn’t realize Moze would be romantic like this - though perhaps he’s just applying what he’s learned about storytelling. He can only imagine what Moze might look like, and how he longs to see if his purple-blue eyes soften the way Jiaoqiu thinks they might be. This will have to suffice for now, though, and despite the heat rising to his face, Jiaoqiu just smiles. “I’ll be waiting.”