Mingyu was quiet as he listened to the passion in Fox's voice, smiling as he found himself flipped over and pushed down against the bed in what could only be described as tender, loving ownership. He was Fox's in the way of something holy, held in reverence, Fox regarding him in action as the rest of the world pretended to be in their pretty words, their likes and their comments and their retweets. None of that ever felt real, not for a moment, but this—

There was nothing more real. Fox was an artist and Mingyu was another creation, a blank slate brought to life by Fox's warmth, his vision.

Fox told him he was worth everything and Mingyu believed. In Fox's hands, he felt like something holy, but Fox was the beginning and the end to Mingyu's faith.

And whatever Fox thought, whatever he called Mingyu, whatever he felt in his heart he did or didn't deserve, from here on the bed looking up, Fox was the most beautiful thing in all of creation, the single most light Mingyu had ever seen.

"Never," he agreed softly, his heart in his eyes, in his smile, soft brown hair fanned out in a gold halo there in the sun streaming in through the bay windows. "Not for as long as you want me here, for as long as you want to stay with me."

He laced their fingers together where Fox had him pinned down.

"I never get tired of any part of you, Huli. I miss every little thing when you're gone."