He is a mirror to Jin Guangyao; eyes full of an apprehensive sort of joy, with the niggling worry it will all be yanked away at a moments notice, but not an ounce of regret.

(He remembers the stink of smoke and bodies as the Cloud Recesses burned, that his chance encounter with A-Yao had come on the heel of mutual tragedy, and pursued by Wen Soldiers. It seemed the world had deemed that they could not have any joy that didn't begin or end in sorrow.

Xichen would take the joy then, and endure whatever sorrow was to come. Jin Guangyao is worth it.)

His own impulse is to pull his husband into a crushing kiss, to lift him up and carry him back to Jin Guangyao's quarters and hold him and kiss him until the heat death of the universe.

But they aren't quite done here.

"Husband," he affirms, eyes crinkling at the corner as he swipes a thumb over Jin Guangyao's lip, before reaching back to unfasten the crimson and gold head ribbon.

He joins their hands, carefully winding the red silk around their wrists so that they are properly joined.

"Uncle would throw a fit if I did not do this properly."

Well, Lan Qiren would probably throw a fit about something happening in this room at least.