His jaw sets, a muscle tightening in his neck as he listens. It's nothing he never imagined or wondered about, being more than half in love with Jin Guangyao by the time things fell apart, but it feels like such a confession carries ten times the inappropriate weight when spoken aloud. Xichen's hands ball up into fists on the knees of his robes, carrying all the tension he exhumes from the rest of his body to seem impassive.

When their eyes meet his lips part on words he immediately forgets (a reprimand or somesuch) because all he is doing is looking into his once-zhiji's eyes. Xichen is not full of rage on default, or wily, or cruel; in the moment, he wishes he was. After a pregnant pause, he reaches up with both hands. One steadies the front of his headband, the other unloops the tie behind his guan, and then the blue ribbon is sliding free to be carefully wound up and hidden in his sleeve for safe-keeping. Jin Guangyao will never have that part of him, not anymore. As for the rest ...

A dark gaze drops to his fist, blinking slowly with an answer of his own given in more than words. Waiting.