

PoppyCosmos
10.6K posts

@PoppiCosmos
Tᴇᴀ ʙʀᴇᴡᴇʀ • Aɴɢsᴛ Wʀɪᴛᴇʀ • Hᴀs ᴀ ᴛᴇᴀᴘᴏᴛ ғɪʟʟᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀs ᴛᴇᴀʀs.•𝖨 𝖺𝗆 𝖺 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖻𝗈𝗐.•𝖠U𝖣𝖧𝖣






#xicheng 😌🔪 “I love you.” The confession is almost embarrassingly soft. As though speaking too loudly might frighten the answer away. Lan Xichen smiles, his thumb brushing lovingly across Jiang Cheng’s cheek. “I should have said it sooner.” Sunlight spills through the paper windows, painting warm ribbons of gold across the room. Outside, the breeze carries the scent of lotus blossoms from the lake beyond the Cloud Recesses. It is beautiful. Peaceful. Exactly the sort of afternoon Jiang Cheng always claimed was “too quiet.” “You’d complain,” Lan Xichen chuckles to himself. “You always said silence made you restless.” He waits. Almost expectantly. As though any moment now Jiang Cheng will roll his eyes and mutter that Lan Xichen talks far too much when no one is asking him to. The silence stretches. Lan Xichen only smiles wider. “You’ve always been stubborn.” He carefully gathers Jiang Cheng into his arms, supporting his weight with practiced ease. “You’ve made me carry every conversation for weeks now.” His forehead rests lightly against Jiang Cheng’s. “I suppose it’s only fair.” His fingers gently smooth the wrinkles from Jiang Cheng’s robes. Every fold. Every sleeve. Every loose strand of hair is tucked carefully back into place. There. Perfect. Just the way Jiang Cheng preferred. “I asked the kitchens to prepare lotus root and pork rib soup today.” His smile turns sheepish. “…Yanli’s recipe.” “I know mine never tastes quite right.” He laughs quietly. “You always knew.” ⸻ Days become a rhythm. Every morning, Lan Xichen opens the windows so Jiang Cheng can “enjoy the fresh air.” Every afternoon he reads aloud from whichever book he happens to be studying. Every evening he lights incense because Jiang Cheng always said he slept better when the room smelled of sandalwood. He talks enough for two people. About politics. About rabbits escaping the back gardens. About Lan Wangji’s continued inability to express emotions with more than three words. About nothing. About everything. He tells Jiang Cheng stories the way lonely people pray. Not because they expect an answer. Because they cannot bear the silence otherwise. Sometimes… He apologizes. “I should have listened.” His voice catches. “I know.” “I know.” He presses his lips against Jiang Cheng’s forehead. “If I could choose every mistake in my life…” “…I would choose differently.” “…Every single time.” Visitors come. Lan Wangji. Uncle Lan Qiren. The elders. Nie Huaisang. None are allowed inside. Lan Xichen politely declines them all. “A-Cheng is resting.” “He has had a difficult few days.” “He shouldn’t be disturbed.” His voice is always calm. Always gentle. Always certain. No one knows how to answer that. Weeks pass. Fresh flowers replace old ones. Lan Xichen notices when the petals wilt long before he notices anything else. “A-Cheng likes lotus best,” he murmurs as he arranges another vase. “They remind him of home.” He smiles. “So we should keep them fresh.” Then one afternoon a knock. So quiet it almost disappears beneath the wind. Lan Xichen doesn’t answer. Another knock. “…Uncle.” His hand freezes. He closes his eyes. “…Jin Ling.” The boy’s voice is hoarse. Small. Like someone trying very hard not to cry. “…May I come in?” Lan Xichen says nothing. The door slides open anyway. Jin Ling steps inside. For a moment he simply stands there. Looking. Looking at the room. At the flowers. At the carefully folded blankets. At his uncle… resting peacefully beside the window. Everything is so lovingly arranged. So meticulously cared for. As though someone has been trying to preserve a single perfect afternoon. Jin Ling’s chest tightens. “…You’ve been taking good care of him.” Lan Xichen smiles. “Of course.” “He deserves that.” Jin Ling nods. His vision blurs. “…He always deserved that.” They stand together in silence.












I have a v excited Jiang Cheng related thing Saturday and I can't wait to show y'all 🫣🫣

