[bonfire] hold back the night

Through the apartment window, the warm glow of the bonfire outside cast dancing shadows across the room, its flames leaping skyward against the darkening evening. The distant sound of laughter and singing filtered in, a harmonic blend of joy and celebration from the gathering outside. Ruìsāng, while more accustomed to bars and clubs, found this festivity somewhat foreign. It was too intimate, too personal – a stark contrast to his usual haunts. Yet, inviting Vince to join him felt right, though terrifyingly domestic.

Their time together had taken some unexpected turns. From the plan of a simple shared meal, they had progressed to Vince being a constant presence in his home, and more significantly, in his bed. The decision to extend Vince's stay, especially after the attack, had been instinctive – a protective impulse. Despite the emotional ups and downs, he harboured no regrets about inviting Vince into his home. The companionship had been a welcome change, offering a sense of home to an otherwise empty place.

Tonight, Ruìsāng was determined to see Vince enjoy himself, to cast aside the shadows of recent events and bask in the moment. During dinner, he had crafted cocktails to set a light, celebratory mood, selecting bottles he’d brought from work. With the dishes tidied away, the evening was ripe for them to join the bonfire, not too long before the communal countdown to the New Year.

Approaching Vince from behind, Ruìsāng enveloped him in a gentle embrace. He pressed a soft kiss against the nape of Vince's neck, feeling a smirk play upon his lips. “Ready to head out, Bǎobèi?” he whispered against his skin.

Ruìsāng found himself wrapped in a domesticity he had never envisioned for himself. Standing there, embracing Vince from behind while the latter busied himself with the final touches on his New Year’s preparations. This closeness was a concept Ruìsāng had long considered beyond his reach. He felt a stir of something — but he quickly shied away from these thoughts, unprepared to confront their implications.

Vince's announcement of his Lotus seed paste buns, pulled Ruìsāng's attention back to the present. He leaned in, curiosity piqued, to sneak a peek at the buns without loosening his embrace. “Oh. They look delicious,” Ruìsāng murmured appreciatively, his voice a soft hum against Vince's ear. He planted a gentle kiss on Vince's skin, a tender gesture that lingered briefly before he stepped back, albeit with some reluctance. He was keenly aware that if they lingered much longer, they might miss the celebration entirely — a repetition of a pattern they'd fallen into before.

“Do you need me to carry anything?” Ruìsāng offered, his posture relaxing into an easy stance, his smile genuine and light. He was thankful for Lìeyàn's earlier assistance with transporting the bottles, her strength a unique advantage in preparing for the evening.

Vince's mention of recipes brought a warm smile to Ruìsāng's face. He nodded in agreement, fully intent on honouring that request. “Sure. We’ll explore some of your recipes,” he promised. The idea of delving into Vince's culinary heritage, recreating the flavours of his home, was appealing. With his culinary skills, he was more than prepared to bring those dishes to life. He looked forward to a time after the New Year’s celebrations when they could unwind and start working on that.

Accustomed to taking care of himself, Ruìsāng was momentarily taken aback by Vince's gentle concern. A soft chuckle escaped him as Vince’s gaze lingered on his bandages. “I am fine. It’s mostly healed,” he reassured Vince. The bandages were as much a concealment as they were a protection – a way to shield the deeper scars from concern or scrutiny. Ruìsāng preferred to bear these marks privately, sparing Vince any unnecessary worry.

The brief, affectionate kiss Vince placed on his lips elicited a contented hum from Ruìsāng, who playfully pouted as Vince pulled away too soon. He watched Vince head towards the front door, then followed, picking up the plate with ease.

Stepping out the door, the vibrant cacophony of the celebration immediately enveloped them. The sharp, distinct scent of the bonfire filled the air, mingling with the sounds of laughter, music, and chatter.

In the kitchen, Ruìsāng’s expertise leaned more towards savoury rather than sweet. He had mastered the fundamental skills, yet baking was not his forte. This culinary divide created a perfect partnership between him and Vince. Vince's baking complemented Ruìsāng’s cooking beautifully, and Ruìsāng looked forward to sampling Vince’s baked goods. Conversely, he was eager to share his own passion for cooking with Vince, planning to teach him.

When Vince expressed his worries, a warmth unfurled in Ruìsāng’s chest, unexpected but not unwelcome. “I know,” he responded, his voice tender, a soft smile gracing his lips. “Thank you.” There was a comfort in Vince’s balanced approach to expressing concern – it was caring without being overbearing. It was a reassurance of care that didn't feel constricting or suffocating.

Exiting the apartment, they descended the staircase and soon found themselves amidst the lively atmosphere of the bonfire. The area was abuzz with groups of friends and couples gathered around the fire, their laughter and conversations mingling with the crackling flames. Blankets were strewn around, adding to the cosy ambiance. As they approached a table, Ruìsāng carefully set down the plate, his gaze scanning the crowd. Recognizing familiar faces, he contemplated how to navigate the evening with Vince. It was a crossroads of sorts – a choice between maintaining a platonic front or opening up to potential inquiries about their relationship, to which he had no answers yet.

In that moment, Ruìsāng decided to lean into the uncertainty of what lay ahead. He playfully snatched one of Vince’s cookies and a bottle of tequila, his grin teasing and impish. “Wanna sit by the fire?” he suggested, nodding towards an inviting, empty log near the warmth of the flames.

The bonfire, with its lively, communal spirit, had never been Ruìsāng’s preferred setting. The joviality felt foreign to him, too steeped in a domestic happiness he had never known. Yet, as he settled onto one of the logs by the fire this time, Vince by his side, Ruìsāng found the atmosphere less alien than he had anticipated.

With the orange glow of the flames flickering in his peripheral vision, Ruìsāng bit into his cookie, holding it between his teeth while he expertly uncapped the bottle of tequila. After taking a satisfying bite, he lowered the bottle onto his lap, savouring the taste. “This is good,” he declared, a genuine grin breaking through. In a playful gesture, he held the cookie up to Vince’s lips, pressing it gently against them. “Try this,” he urged, his smirk softening into a smile. The cookies, while Vince had probably taste-tested them over and over, would taste better in the bonfire’s glow.

Turning his attention further towards Vince, Ruìsāng’s expression shifted to one of concern. “Are you alright?” he asked, his tone carrying a note of genuine worry. After taking a hearty swig of tequila, he offered the bottle to Vince, his eyebrows raised in a mix of curiosity and concern. “If it’s too much, we can head back any time. No pressure,” he reassured, ready to abandon the celebration for a quieter, more intimate setting indoors. Ruìsāng wanted Vince to feel comfortable, even if it meant going back.

Ruìsāng's brow furrowed in concern as he noticed Vince wince after tasting his own cookie, followed by a quiet, self-critical mutter. Leaning back, Ruìsāng gently shook his head, a soft reassurance in his tone. “They’re good. Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he urged Vince. This wasn’t just about cookies – Ruìsāng had seen Vince unfairly blame himself for things beyond his control, and it pained him.

Noticing Vince’s distant look, Ruìsāng suggested they could head back if the other was uncomfortable. However, Vince quickly dispelled his concerns, attributing his distant demeanour to mere daydreaming. Though still slightly worried, Ruìsāng gave a nod of understanding. He reclaimed the tequila bottle after Vince’s sip, resolving internally to make this night a memorable one. He wanted Vince to end the year on a high note, to start the new one with positivity. It was a goal he was determined to achieve.

With a playful grin, Ruìsāng shifted closer to Vince, the warmth of the bonfire flickering across their faces. “Let’s play a little game, alright? An easy one, I promise,” he said. “Twenty-one questions. Anything goes. From cute to spicy,” he added with a wink. “You can skip any question – you’ll just have to take a drink as a penalty,” he explained, punctuating his words with another swig of tequila. He hoped the game would lighten the mood.

Surprise flickered across Ruìsāng's face as an arm was wrapped around him, but it quickly morphed into an amused smirk. This was a dynamic he was familiar with, one he could navigate with ease. Physical touch had always been a more straightforward language for him than words – simple, instinctive, without the need for overthinking. He observed Vince taking a swig. With a soft chuckle, Ruìsāng mirrored the action, taking the bottle and drinking.

“Alright,” Ruìsāng agreed, a note of playfulness in his voice as Vince indicated it was his turn first. He already had an idea tucked away for later – a plan for when the bustling atmosphere would, hopefully, become too much for Vince. But for now, he was content to engage in the lighter, more jovial part of the evening.

“Let’s begin with something simple. What's your New Year's resolution?” he inquired.

Ruìsāng listened intently as Vince shared his New Year’s resolution to make a mark in the music world. “I’ll keep you up to that,” he said. A smile then curved his lips. “If you’re ever in need of a gig, just say the word. I can set something up,” he offered. He knew all too well the opportunities that the Lunar Lounge could provide – where affluence met ambition, and where emerging talents often caught the eye of influential patrons.

With Vince inquiring about Ruìsāng's greatest fear, there was a contemplative hum from him. He could have offered a frivolous response – something about bugs, perhaps. But they were here to bridge the gap between them, to move beyond surface-level exchanges. Ruìsāng chose honesty. “Losing those I hold dear,” he admitted. Then, lightening the mood, he added, “And yes, bugs. Spiders, also,” he said with a solemn nod, a hint of humour in his eyes.

“What was your first impression of me?” he inquired. He was aware of Vince's later perceptions, but he was intrigued to know what had gone through Vince's mind during their initial encounter.

Bugs had always been an inexplicable source of fear for Ruìsāng. Their multitude of legs, their excessive eyes — it was all too much. He much preferred the company of normal Pokémon, like his Mawile, despite her formidable jaw and the strength to wreak havoc. Somehow, her presence was reassuring compared to Alastor’s minuscule yet terrifying spider.

Vince's comment about Ruìsāng in his work attire being intimidating caught him off guard, prompting a surprised blink. He touched his hair reflexively when Vince mentioned he was cute, a note of confusion in his gesture. Maybe it was the hair, the other added. “Intimidating, really?” he queried, feigning a pout.

When asked about what people struggled to understand about him, Ruìsāng found himself humming thoughtfully. With a knowing smile, he responded, “People often find most things about me hard to understand.” He added, “I’ve gotten pretty good at using humour to deflect and keep people from getting too close.” Left unspoken was the fact that Vince had managed to pierce through that veil, to understand more of him than most.

“Now, your turn. What’s the boldest thing you’ve ever done?”