China is in the middle of civil war. Liu Qingge isn’t the type for love confessions, but he knows best of all that war waits for no one.
mxtx reverse bang collab, story here
Le Retour
Yuuri left home at 18 in a political marriage to Yakov Feltsman’s oldest son.
But he never had the chance to know his husband well. The older boy with silver hair evaded him at every turn, barely spoke any words, and seemed almost gleeful when he was drafted away to fight in war just weeks after their wedding.
Six years later, when the war ends, Yuuri’s breath catches when he sees his husband again. He could hardly see traces of the petulant boy who had ignored him. His hair is the same silvery shade, but his eyes are different. The moment the man takes Yuuri’s hand, with care and delicate kindness, he knows. He knows this is not Yakov’s son. This is an imposter.
Yakov and Lilia are fooled by the imposter’s charm and conveniently timed recounts of “his childhood”, but Yuuri is sure beyond a doubt.
The way this man looks at him is so different: with immense appreciation rather than apathy.
He ought to turn him in, ought to want the Feltsmans to have their real son back, but Yuuri can’t bring himself to speak. He’s selfish; he finds that he prefers the imposter. Yuuri finds the terrible jokes endearing, his gaze thrilling.
“What is your name?” he finally asks when they are alone watching the sun set. He wants to know everything about this man.
“Artem.”
“No, what is your real name? You are not Artem.”
“Ah, so you know.” His blue eyes are downcast and worried.
Yuuri reassures him with a light touch. “I’ve always known. Your secret is safe. What is your name? Where are you from?”
“It’s Viktor.”
“Viktor,” he repeats with a bashful smile, “I like your name.” I also like you. But he can’t get the words out and asks instead, “Where is Artem, Viktor?”
Viktor explains, “He complained about not wanting to live a life planned for him. He ran away with a girl he loved. We looked alike, and we’d spent years trading stories about our childhoods and homes, and so I cut my hair to look like his and…”
“So you took his place as a favor to him?”
“Something like that.” Viktor’s face colors a bit, his cheeks dusting with a light pink. “I saw you in a photograph he had…”
Yuuri stops him abruptly with a kiss, letting the shadow of the remaining words fade against his lips. He loses himself into their embrace, feels as though he is made of sand that Viktor is stirring continuously.
In the back of his mind, Yuuri worries this won’t end well. He wants Viktor. Perhaps the Feltsmans also prefer this more thoughtful son. But he also knows Artem, and Artem is selfish where Viktor is generous. It would only be a matter of time when the glamorous veneer of bohemian life wore off, and he returned in search of money.
Shoving the unease away, he traces Viktor’s features with his lips. His cheek, his temple, his brow, his forehead. It would be a shame to sully the moment with such thoughts.
Viktor, his mind plays back, his husband is Viktor.
I originally wanted to do reverse bang with this idea--but alas, do not have the time. So if anyone wants to steal it, go on right ahead (you can have the art too)