The blooming of the trees festival had been magnificent this year, and Laurence had been happy to make a day of it with Temeraire and Lan Xichen.
But he was happier still to watch the trees bloom without all the bustle and noise of the festival. He and Lan Xichen weren’t alone, not exactly: there were several blankets laid out under the grove of still-blooming cherry trees, but the other groups were keeping to themselves, and quiet, except for the occasional burst of laughter.
Their dinner party was this evening, but Laurence had decided to order caterers for the event, not wanting to spend the whole of his anniversary cooking for the group. He had, instead, spent the morning cooking breakfast and preparing a picnic filled with all of Lan Xichen's favourites. Keeping industrious helped keep his mind off the events of two weeks earlier.
He’d made up a basket of home-baked pastries (and some purchased from Lan Xichen’s favourite bakery; Laurence knew he could not bake near as well as the professionals), and dumplings and any other favourite food he could think of, and a thermoses of both green and black tea, and had laid a blanket a little distance from the other picnickers where the breeze caused the cherry blossoms to fall like rain around Lan Xichen's shoulders.
It had been good to turn his mind from abandoning Temeraire in his hour if need – an image that still sprang up every time he closed his eyes or gave himself a moment of idleness – and turn all his attentions instead to their upcoming anniversary.
It helped, too, to put into practice a little of what they’d discussed the day that he’d come home to find Lan Xichen plagued with allergies. Laurence still felt like a bit of an exhibitionist any time he took Lan Xichen’s hand in public, any time he rubbed his thumb across his husband’s knuckles. But it was getting easier, and he’d deliberately chosen a spot further away from the other picnickers so they might not notice when he’d laid down, resting his head on Lan Xichen’s lap, and, indeed, any time he shot glances over to them, none of them seemed to be paying the least attention. It all felt sinfully indulgent, having Lan Xichen’s long, gentle fingers caress his hair as he pillowed on those soft robes, eating sweets.
He set down the cream puff he'd been holding so he could reach up and pluck one of the delicate petals from Lan Xichen's shoulder. “Happy anniversary, Lan Huan,” he said, low and heartfelt.
“Happy anniversary, Will Laurence,” Lan Xichen softly replied. He leaned down just for a moment to have a brief kiss that would be hidden by the dark fall of his hair, and when he rose again it was with a warm smile. As mortifying as the episode of sneezing out the truth had been at the time, it had worked out very well for him. He was happier and more satisfied in his marriage than ever—and he knew that whatever had happened in that other world, right here was still the place his husband wanted to be. There could be no greater happiness in the world than this.
He looked up at the cherry blossoms a moment, then back down to Laurence. “I think we were very wise in when we held our wedding,” he said. “Every year, our anniversary will come with this beauty.”
“Every year our anniversary would come with great beauty, no matter when it was held,” Laurence said, gaze openly adoring; it was something of a relief to not need to temper his expressions in public anymore. “But yes, the trees are very nice too.”
Lan Xichen laughed in that subdued way he had, soft and low. A line like that deserved another kiss, he thought, and so he gave it without any self-consciousness. He enjoyed this freedom they had taken for themselves, to have these small gestures of affection wherever they happened to be. It felt good, like so many of the old rules he’d let go of. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, he thought, would be proud of him even if his uncle would not.
“I suppose with you, the dead of winter would also be a lovely occasion,” Lan Xichen admitted. “But I still enjoy that the flowering trees celebrate with us.”
Laurence smiled, blushing. He'd shared a thousand kisses with Lan Xichen before and though he'd never tired of it, these new ones, under the eyes of all, made his heart pound like those first kisses shared in the Hanshi.
“I feel like a lovestruck boy,” Laurence confessed.
He wished he could gaze up at his husband from below for the rest of the afternoon, but with some reluctance he sat up and turned to face him. This seemed important enough that he should not do it pillowed on Lan Xichen's magnificent thighs.
“I have made new vows, to add to the ones I made on our wedding day,” he said. “I do not expect you to do the same; I know I have not mentioned doing so to you, but it was only this week that it came to me that I should.” This week, after he'd realised how poor a husband he had been. “But I thought today would be appropriate to restate my commitment to you, and to our future life together.”
Lan Xichen had expected no such thing, but he was immediately enamored with the thought of it. He did not think Laurence had been a poor husband at all, but to hear those promises of love in another form sounded lovely indeed.
“I would be glad to hear your vows again, though I assure you it is not necessary,” Lan Xichen replied. “You have already well silenced any foolish fears I had.”
“I have been remiss in my duty all the same,” Laurence said, “and perhaps it was only that neither one of us knew, precisely, what that was. And so I would like to make it very clear.”
He took Lan Xichen’s hand in his, and kissed the first knuckle. “I vow to you that, no matter how petty you think your concerns are, I will take them and share them, so long as you will do me the honour of sharing them with me.” He kissed his second knuckle. “And while I cannot vow to tell you every time my heart aches for love of you, for I fear you would never silence me if I did, I vow that I will make more of an effort to be open with my regard for you.” He kissed his third knuckle and offered him a small, reading smile. “I vow that I will press my suits less often in your presence, and will endeavour to do the bulk of that particular chore while you are at work. And,” he kissed Lan Xichen’s last knuckle, and there his lips lingered as he gazed up at Lan Xichen through his lashes. When he spoke again, his voice was low, though there was no chance at all that anyone was near enough to overhear, “I vow that, at least once, when you least expect it, I will surprise you at work and I will have you over that fine desk of yours.”
With a soft smile on his face, Lan Xichen closed his eyes and just barely tightened his hold on Laurence’s hand. He needed a silent moment to take those beautiful words in, to let the feeling of being so perfectly cherished wash over him and settle before he could speak.
Lan Xichen opened his eyes when he was ready, that small, warm smile still on his face. “I accept your vows,” he said softly, and brought his other hand up so they could both wrap around Laurence’s. “And I shall write a new set of my own, as well. I would attempt it now, but I fear I would be too overcome by emotions to do so with any eloquence.”
Laurence lifted Lan Xichen’s hands to his lips again, so that he might kiss the other one as well, eyes not leaving Lan Xichen’s face. He couldn’t imagine what torture this afternoon would have been, if not for their recent conversation about being more affectionate in public, and he brought his other hand to lay atop Lan Xichen’s too, and squeezed. “I will wait patiently for them,” he promised.
“Not too long,” Lan Xichen assured him. He leaned in to rest their foreheads together, as comfortably as he would when they were alone. It was easy in this moment to imagine that they were the only people in the world, or at the very least the only people in the cherry grove. “I will make time to write tomorrow, and you and I can have a second evening celebrating our anniversary.”
It was very, very easy to forget that they weren't alone, the scent of the cherry blossoms on the light breeze the only indication that they weren't in the fields of Loch Laggan. He raised a hand to Lan Xichen's cheek and tilted his head so that he could kiss him, lingering and tender, as an eddy of cherry blossoms swirled around them.
This was a moment to file away in memory to keep forever, Lan Xichen thought. Maybe one to somehow try to paint the essence of, or write a poem about. He could only be sure that he wanted to keep this forever, as long as he lived.
When the kiss broke at last, Lan Xichen smiled, and a thought occurred to him: the “selfies” Prompto had taught him to take. “Stay right there,” he said, and reached into his sleeve for his phone. “I wish to have a picture of us.”
Laurence had never managed to acquire the habit of photographs – he’d taken a couple in his time here, but only rarely for things other than references: things to buy, papers to file, the names of books he thought Temeraire might enjoy. If he’d taken selfies, there’d been no art to them, only quick photos to ask his husband’s opinion on one outfit or neckcloth or another.
But he smiled at Lan Xichen’s request, and raised a hand to check his hair. “How do I look?” he asked.
“As handsome as the day we wed,” Lan Xichen assured him, and it was no exaggeration. To him, every time Laurence smiled at him was a new moment of perfect beauty. Lan Xichen loved looking at him no matter what state he was in.
Not that there was any reason to object to Laurence’s appearance now, even if one were not looking through the eyes of love. He always did look smart when appearing in public, and the stray petal that rested at once side was part of the moment’s charm.
“But here, you may look.” Lan Xichen tapped the camera button, tapped it again to flip to the front, and held the device out at arm’s length as he leaned in close to his husband. There they were on the screen, framed by the cherry trees in the background, looking as happy as they had ever been.
Laurence’s smile broadened to see them together on the screen, and to see how prettily the blue of Lan Xichen’s robes sat against the pink of the trees. He allowed Lan Xichen to snap a photo of them smiling together, and then with Lan Xichen’s arm still raised with the camera, Laurence wrapped an arm around his waist, pulled him closer still, and pressed his lips to his cheek, feeling far too young and giddy for his age and finding he minded it not at all.
Lan Xichen snapped a picture of that, too, before he lowered his phone and turned to kiss his husband again—still lightly, nothing too untoward for the public, but a kiss nonetheless. When he was done, he playfully bumped Laurence’s nose with his, on the very verge of bursting into a delighted laugh.
“As much as I will enjoy a celebration with our friends,” he said, “ I am glad you arranged this time for us as well. It is good to have you to myself for a bit.”
Laurence did let out a brief, but joyous, laugh, took a moment to admire his husband's beauty, and then pillowed his head on Lan Xichen’s shoulder.
“Yes, well, we had to cancel our getaway,” or rather, Laurence had had to cancel their getaway, “so I thought it might be nice to just have a peaceful moment to ourselves. I love you, A-Huan.”
“And I love you, Will-ge,” Lan Xichen softly replied. He turned to kiss the top of Laurence’s head, and he stayed pressed close to the golden hair he’d always been so fond of. “Now, I have one final request for our anniversary…”
He reached for Laurence’s hand and squeezed it gently. “Do not be so hard on yourself. I do not like to see anyone place unreasonable expectations on my husband.”
Laurence looked up sharply, startled, at Lan Xichen, as the words washed over him, and, as they began to permeate, his face crumpled a little. He did not – would not – cry, not here where anyone could see, but he sank his head back down to Lan Xichen’s shoulder, closing his eyes and turning his face in the soft fabric of Lan Xichen’s robes.
He did not think anyone had, ever in his life, suggested that he was unreasonably hard on himself; had never considered it himself. But Lan Xichen’s simple statement had stirred something in him, both painful and cleansing, like puncturing a wound to let the infection out.
“I will try not to,” he promised, lowly, squeezing Lan Xichen’s hand, which he had not let go of, and twining his fingers with him. “Thank you, my love.”
“That is all I can ask,” Lan Xichen gently replied. It would have been baffled him to know that no one had ever told Laurence he was too hard on himself. It seemed so obvious to him: Laurence was continually trying to fulfill the very high expectations he set for himself, and he seemed to accept nothing less than perfection for results. Laurence was not nearly so demanding of those he loved, and Lan Xichen wished he would show himself that same grace and understanding. For now, though, he would settle for an attempt at it.
He kissed the top of Laurence’s head once more and left their fingers laced together. “And I thank you, as well. I could imagine no better way to celebrate a year together than our day thus far and our evening to come. You have quite outdone yourself.”
Laurence smiled, feeling far more pleased than was proportional to the praise. He gave Lan Xichen’s hand another squeeze, and brought his knuckles to his lips, in part to cover the foolish grin that had crossed his face. “Thank you, my heart,” Laurence murmured against his knuckles. “I can only hope that each anniversary we celebrate together will surpass the last.” But that they would have many more together, he would not allow himself to doubt.
Lan Xichen shared that determination; he would not think of all the friends they had seen disappear off to their homes or perhaps to other lands entirely. If he did, he told himself that surely whatever life they might yet find themselves in, he and Laurence would go together. He could not think fortune so cruel as to bring them together only to tear them apart. By some means or another, there would be many celebrations yet to come.
“Next year,” he said, “I will take on more of the planning. I allowed you to do too much for this one.”
Laurence grimaced, feeling the cad; he knew his husband enjoyed planning these sorts of things as much as Laurence himself, and Laurence had forced him to give up the opportunity. And then he recalled the promise he had only just made, moments before. He lifted his head from Lan Xichen's shoulder so he could look at him.
“I thank you, very much, for indulging my selfish desire to take on the bulk of the planning this year. I needed, I very much needed, the opportunity to focus on pleasant things, and you were good enough to give me that opportunity even if it meant denying yourself. Next year we will certainly do the planning as a partnership.”
He resisted the urge to apologize for denying Lan Xichen that opportunity this year; he would try to look at it as a gift given to him, and not something he had stolen from his husband, though he couldn't quite keep the worried, questioning apology from his face as he searched Lan Xichen's.
“If it was a pleasure for you, then I am glad for you to have had it,” Lan Xichen replied gently. He hadn’t meant to make Laurence feel badly, not at all. He had really meant to give an apology of his own for not being more helpful. “Do not worry so, my heart. All is well.”
“It was a pleasure for me, as it always is when I have the opportunity to make you smile,” Laurence assured him. He took Lan Xichen’s hand on both of his again, and brought it to his mouth. “Thank you, dearest, for all your support. I know I have been uncommonly worried lately.” He’d felt a nearly constant sense of dread ever since he’d come back from Wild Vallo, that only seemed to disappear completely when he was in the company of Lan Xichen or Temeraire, and even then it tended to manifest in strange, unexpected ways and insecurities. He could recall no other time, especially not during times of peace, when he had felt so. At least during war, he could pinpoint the source of that dread, instead of attempting to build reasons for it out of thin air. “But you’ve always managed to ease my mind. Please continue to have patience with me until this mood passes.”
“Of course I will,” Lan Xichen replied, “for as long as that may take.”
Now that Laurence had settled the worry that he might prefer to be elsewhere, Lan Xichen had no trouble being patient with his anxiety. Even if it never passed, as was sometimes the case with people who had been through terrible things, that would be all right.