He glances over and then moves to collect the gift, making sure his fingers touch Xichen's as he takes them. "Thank you. I'll treasure them."

It's not like he has much else to treasure. It's another thing given to him by Xichen, allowed by him. Like his very existence right now. Guangyao sets his jaw and bids his mind to calmness, the anger warming in his belly despite it.

He wants to live.

He wishes Xichen would've let him die.

The juxtaposition of emotions makes him feel ill as he goes to put it away safely. When he wanders back, he stands and watches Xichen for a moment. He's never felt this awkward forced politeness between them before and at this time he doesn't know what to do with it. There's still that warm familiarity, that affection and warmth mired under bitterness and resentment and the knowledge that Xichen knows him now.

What does one do with being known?

Guangyao observes Xichen as he goes about the motions of serving the tea, the steps coming as naturally as breathing. He says nothing the entire time, watching and waiting, like an abused animal waiting for the sharp sting of another blow.

"You torture yourself." Is all he says in the end, pouring the tea. He doesn't even know if he's talking about Xichen or himself.