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nnight-dances · 3 years ago

Text

FOOLISH LOVE

pairings: xiao x f!reader

plot: y/n is a simp for xiao and loves him with her whole heart but will never let him know because she is convinced he is never going to return those feelings so she continues to stab herself in the heart by hanging out with him and falling more and more in love, full of happiness and sadness that he isn’t hers. spoiler: he is hers.

genre: angst, but also fluff

A/N: oh my god this is a repost of the first fic i ever wrote... um yea this is an interesting writing style.. but i kinda like the innocence so i'm just going to keep it!! we'll see how it goes.

“hey, i got this for you,” you were a little out of breath from the climb to the highest floor of the wangshu inn. you’d think days after days of trudging up and down the stairs would have you used to the burn in your calves but here you were sighing heavily as you place the warm bowl of almond tofu in xiao’s hands.

he shoots you a look halfway between concern and disdain, “you’re late.”

you scoff, plopping down on the rock beside the railing where xiao was settled, “you’re welcome.”

this was a routine for the two of you — every wednesday evening (because according to xiao “wednesday is when the sun is the wArMeST”) you would usurp smiley’s place in his kitchen and whip up almond tofu for a certain ungrateful adeptus and while he ate the dish (with a small smile that he always denied when you brought it up), you would narrate the happenings in your life as an employee of the wangsheng funeral parlour.

“the boy had this entire ‘good riddance’ attitude the whole time he was making negotiations but zhongli and i just knew he was trying to act strong,” you pause for half-giggle, “and guess what? as soon as he thought he was alone in hu tao’s office, he basically broke down.”

“that sounds revolting,” xiao places the now empty wooden bowl between the two of you, “why bother putting up such elaborate facades of strength if they’re so fragile?”

silently, you run your fingers through your hair, wondering if xiao was hearing what he was saying. it sounded too much like he was trying to provoke you.

you look away, choosing to ignore whatever the strangely pointed look on his face meant, and offer an unearnest hum.

“well, how about you?” you fiddle with xiao’s chopsticks, a little restless, “what adepti business have you been upto?”

a beat passes as xiao shifts, throwing his legs over the edge and swinging them. the uncharacteristically childish movement made you smile; you find that the more time you spend around xiao, the more you realise just how young he was.

“nothing of interest,” you roll your eyes at his curt reply.

“alright, i know you hate talking about your very confidential duties,” you’ve tried for weeks to get him to say something about what he does while you’re away and the best you ever received was an unsatisfying tale about a little girl interrupting xiao’s solitude in the mountains. and yes, you are aware that xiao just isn’t built to share things easily, or at all, but it doesn’t help the slight sting you feel everytime he declines.

well, at this point, it must be apparent: you are helplessly in love with the man with the softest teal undertones and the hardest walls to break, the adeptus who refuses to meddle with human world and thus, refuses all of your love. you know he does not think of you any more than a mortal and yet, every wednesday you ignore the warning in hu tao’s farewell and find yourself mesmerized by the enigmatic diamond on his forehead and the red around his eyes.

simply put, you are an idiot.

“honestly, i never imagined you to be so dramatic, y/n.”

hu tao is ridiculous. everything about her is far from the world of common sense and it reaches beyond the comprehension of any sane human being. perhaps, that is why zhongli is able to get along with her so well.

you gape at her, “i don’t understand — you’re asking me to consummate with a man i don’t even know and i’m the one you’re accusing?!”

“oh, for the last time, all you have to do is take him around liyue! and after you’ve dined on the finest dishes — which i’ve ensured xiangling will be responsible for — you will lead him to his chambers at wangshu inn!”

you raise an eyebrow, “and?”

the next words are whispered, “and maybe accompany him for the night...”

“HU TAO!”

the girl clap her hands together in plea and you feel a sense of dread creeping up your neck. there’s no way out of this, is there?

“is everything all right?”

“ZHONGLI!”

the tall man enters hu tao’s office, probably hearing the racket the pair of you have been creating, with an alertness, ready to face whatever monster was haunting you.

you raise a finger at hu tao who had her head in her hands, afraid zhongli would take your side. (which, surprise, he did.)

“zhongli! help me! hu tao is taking advantage of my maiden nature to ship me off with some gnarly man who will be sure to have the worst of intentions!”

the panic on zhongli’s face morphs into a frown of confusion as he protectively steps in front of you, “is this true, hu tao?”

hu tao sighs from her place, “no, of course not! i am y/n’s friend, her employer — what makes you think i would want to give her away to an unknown man? but the problem is that my family has sent what they call a ‘marriageable’ man and want me to keep him company on his trip to liyue.”

“he is from snezhnaya, yes?”

“correct, but the trouble is that i despise my family’s choice in partners, especially partners that you can’t easily get rid of. i wish not to be involved with him in any way.”

you step next to zhongli, “so you want me to suffer? you would rather see me writhe in—”

“all right, ladies, calm down,” you huff as you sit back down in the chair across from hu tao, “i see the entire matter now. i understand.”

“so? are you going to allow her to do this injustice to me, zhongli?”

years of working with zhongli had granted you quite the soft spot in his books and you knew just how to utilize his kind nature when times required.

“no, i agree with y/n. it would be a purely vile thing to leave her with this man in your stead,” hu tao visibly wilts and you feel a tiny bit bad, “however, we mustn’t allow hu tao to go off on her own either, for that would be irresponsible of us.”

“oh?” hu tao’s interest and your dread spike back up as zhongli scratches his chin for a moment before outlining his plan to get out of this tight spot.

“you want us both to go? do we look like a bunch of concubines to you, zh—”

“no! that is not what i mean! i suggest that y/n goes with hu tao and this man with… a date of her own.”

“so… like a double date?”

hu tao lights up, “yes!! yes!! that sounds marvelous. this way she can finally get out of her infatuation with that gloomy adeptus—”

you glare at hu tao, your hands lighting up with your electro vision threateningly.

“the question remains, who will take with you?” hu tao’s question is sickeningly full of innuendo and you want to distance yourself as far from it as you can.

you jump up to your feet, “zhongli!” you hook an arm around his elbow, having to stand on your toes in the slightest from the gap in your heights.

zhongli appears conflicted at your declaration, coughing awkwardly, “f-forgive me, y/n, i view you much more like a sister.”

you gasp when you realise what he means, “no! no! what- no! oh my archons, i have absolutely no feelings for you, that would be criminal. i meant that you should pose as my date.”

“why him?! i am exhausted of seeing the same two people all the time!”

“oh, come now. why not? after all, zhongli will be able to put the man down in a second if he dares to make an unrequited move.”

zhongli clears his throat, recovering from his misunderstanding, “oh, i suppose that is an intelligent proposal…”

“i know! great,” you nudge zhongli, throwing a wink at hu tao, “let’s get ready for the double date then!”

there is a skip in your step as you rush up the stairs toward xiao as fast as you could without spilling the contents of the bowl in your hands.

you were excited!!! xiao would be so amused!! you managed to turn a situation of possible suffering into one of appropriate tolerance!!

you almost trip as xiao comes into sight.

but you slow down when you realise he’s not alone.

oh! ganyu!!

the two of them seem to be engrossed in conversation and xiao looks... calm. nothing like how he usually appears when he meets people. in general, he has a weirdly distressed look that you would proudly notice softening whenever you were with him

it was one of your achievements in life, you felt, one of the only hopes that made you cling onto the dream that perhaps, you would be loved back. but you feel nothing but disappointment when xiao seems to easily chat (!!) with ganyu.

you shouldn’t be surprised really.. she was an adeptus after all. what gave you the idea that xiao would prefer to be with you, an ordinary human, when he had fellow adpeti like ganyu who could understand him in ways you couldn’t ever dream to parallel?

the excitement you felt moments ago is now far from your reach even as you try to smile back at ganyu when she notices you, waving at you happily. xiao tilts his head to look at you, nodding in acknowledgement.

you almost want to turn back and leave, as you feel your ears redden from something like humiliation.

“y/n!” ganyu beckons you toward the two of them and you reluctantly move closer. “hello, ganyu. i haven’t seen you for a while.”

“ah, i apologize. ningguang has been keeping us quite busy off late,” ganyu scratches her neck, “oh! which reminds me i have to collect some iron chunks for her! i will see you later, then.”

“goodbye,” you mutter as she flies off the railing, leaving you alone with xiao. it is now you notice that xiao has something in his hands.

“ganyu cooked a special variation of almond tofu for my trial,” the bowl is ingrained with golden details, much bigger and more elegant than the one you clutch in your hands.

“sounds interesting,” you hold up the bowl in your hands awkwardly, “i suppose i can take this one back then.”

xiao frowns, “why would you do that? it’s not as if i have a limit for how many bowls i can eat.” he takes the dish from your hands and waits for you to take your seat on the rock.

but you remain standing, taking support against the railings, “you should.”

you don’t fill the silence that ensues with your ramblings and instead listen to the wind as it picks up. xiao doesn’t take notice of this until he’s finished eating and clears his throat to bring attention to himself — his way of asking you to speak.

“we didn’t work much at the parlour today.”

“oh? is it because of hu tao’s incompetence or perhaps, zhongli wanted to recount one of his endless encounters?”

despite everything, you crack a smile at xiao’s comments. this was your weakness — a curse really. it would take everything in you and you would still be incapable of resenting xiao.

“no, we had to solve the case of hu tao’s marriage, one she wants to avoid so badly that she would have me sleep with a completely unknown man.”

xiao coughs in surprise, “what?!”

you are not naive enough to read much into the hostility in xiao’s eyes, “luckily enough, zhongli came up with a plan that would preserve everyone’s dignity.”

briefly, you explain the plot to corner hu tao and her potential husband with your and zhongli’s disguise as a couple.

“why would you go to such lengths to avoid a mere man? you could just take him out when he appears.”

“xiao, you do know that no matter his character, he is a guest of liyue.”

“if he is willing to force a lady into marriage, then he hardly is. and killing him would profit your business. a much better solution.”

you examine xiao to decipher whether he is being serious or not. he never does joke about hurting people but his eyes have a dangerous glint as if he means every word he says.

“i wish you would take these matters more seriously,” you look at the scenery one last time before springing away from the ledge. “anyway, i should leave. zhongli wants to meet before the date. see you, xiao.”

you leave swiftly, knowing if you stayed any longer, you’d find yourself convinced by whatever xiao had to say. you wouldn’t let yourself be swayed by your hopes anymore.

but this is what you miss when you turn your back to him: the clenching of xiao’s jaw because he doesn’t deem it possible take you any more seriously.

“ahhh, this is too much, zhongli!!”

“it is but some mere jewelry. i am sure if we were to crystallise your knowledge into gold, it would outshine these pieces brilliantly.”

you cringe at his words, “please, zhongli, save the flattery for later and help me put this on.” you hand him the delicate string of pearls he produced minutes ago (“i would never allow any lover of mine roam around bare-necked”). you admire the bracelet with the matching pearl in its center, smiling (“what’s with the bracelet, then?” “it comes in a set. you must look complete or it would be an insult to my affection.”)

“i mean it nonetheless,” zhongli fingers are warm against your neck as he slides the necklace snugly against your neck, clicking the ends closed. you praised yourself for opting to wear the wide-necked dress today which allowed the pearls to stand out against your skin while complementing the white with its smooth lilac.

for a minute, you let your imagination wander, replacing zhongli with a shorter man who would no doubt be commenting about his disdain for trifles such as accessories.

“it looks wonderful, y/n,” zhongli smiles at you, eyes filled with friendly appreciation and you feel a little empty even as he slides an arm around your waist, wondering when you would be looked at with something more intense than camaraderie.

the night progresses better than you expect. the man, whose name is lee, turns out to be less of a dignity-snatching gremlin and more of a light-hearted merchant who was tricked by tao family’s influence into coming all the way to liyue.

zhongli and you don’t need to pretend to be in love, but for the sake of meticulousness, he pats your head in the middle of his monologues as reaffirmation anyway.

hu tao has made a little effort to dress up, her staple hat nowhere to be seen and her pigtails traded for open hair that bellows around her fiercely. you smile at her as the two of you trail after the two men who are too occupied in their chatter to notice you straggling, “not so bad, is it?’’ hu tao shrugs but doesn’t deny it.

the three of you show lee to wangshu inn when it’s late enough, hu tao even offering some of her time in the morning to see him off at the harbour. when lee has left for his chambers (much to everyone’s relief, he made it clear that he had no intentions of forcing hu tao to spend the night with him. you kept a finger on your hidden polearm anyway), zhongli offers to watch the moon for some time.

“the moon is always quite remarkable from here, isn’t it?” you nod as hu tao sets off with an exclamation of “i’m getting us milk!” and sigh in relief. this night could have ended much, much worse.

“oh!” you remember the cold weight around your neck, “i’ve to return your jewelry.” you reach for the clasp, meaning to remove it but a hand on yours stills you.

“no, you should wear it for now. return it to me at the parlour later,” you giggle at zhongli.

“oh? i thought you said i’m like a sister to you, zhongli?” you tease him with a smile.

“of course, i meant that. however, it would be a pity to leave it in my pocket idle when it looks so fascinating in the moonlight.”

“archons, i wonder how you’ve stayed single for so many long decades, it’s creepy when you talk to me like that.”

zhongli chuckles and opens his mouth to retort but stops halfway, jerking his head to look at something behind you, expression alert for a moment and then familiar.

“what is it?” you look over your shoulder and find hu tao returning to you.

“nothing, i thought i saw someone familiar for a second.”

“i treat you to dinner and this is how you thank me? by pretending like i’m a stranger?” you laugh as hu tao launches at zhongli with the tray of milk in her hands, your heart shedding some of its pain unknowingly.

xiao doesn’t easily taking liking to things, but he does draw upon a list of his favourites, a list of items that make him feel something akin to happiness.

in the List, one of the higher positions was occupied by moonlit nights; nights where the moon was unapologetically enormous, filled to its brims, flooding and invading.

but today he finds himself resenting the moonlight, for you look so tempting under its touch, temptingly out of his reach.

now, xiao didn’t mean to follow you after you left him miserable and guilty of something he didn’t do. he couldn’t help it: his curiosity got the better of him when you mentioned zhongli.

and everything went downhill fast when he caught sight of zhongli figure bent against you, tying a necklace around your neck that seemed too precious to be a mere prop in the plans you spoke of.

xiao hated it, all of it. the way you easily touched zhongli, who leaned into your touches; the way he towered over you protectively; and the way your delicate features were only emboldened in the lilac dress you adorned.

just as quickly as he came, xiao left, his mood worse than ever before. he’d seen enough.

he returned with the intention of sparing the burn in his heart no more heed but there came the tinkling of your laughter from within the inn, and once again, xiao finds himself perched behind a pillar watching you from a distance, something he was doing more often than he liked.

and there you are, giggling against zhongli’s shoulder, sparking something feral within xiao.

he remembers your carefree giggles from a long time ago, when you just met him. why was it that they, your smiles and your brushes against him, had grown more and more sparse in time?

“xiao?” you frown when you don’t find xiao by your usual spot, placing the hot bowl on the rock to look for him.

maybe he was in his chamber?

you head deeper into the inn, stopping outside the chamber that xiao had mentioned in passing and knock thrice, lightly, almost afraid that he was inside. “xiao?”

you hear a few thuds from inside the room, before the door creaks open, giving way to xiao, who looks… unusual.

there is nothing off about his clothes, everything perfectly — eerily so — in place, but his expression gives him away. you are used to his disgruntled demeanour but today his eyes held something darker.

“hey, are you okay?”

xiao didn’t expect you to show up at his door (albeit he did hope dearly that you would, just so he could feel something), but he scoffs when he sees you, against his will. you look at him in slight shock and xiao wonders why you should find his rudeness out of place.

“what is it?”

you continue to pin him with that gaze of yours, disbelieving, “y-you didn’t show up on the terrace… it’s wednesday.”

“i see. i must have lost track of time.”

“you’ve never done that before.”

“well, you’ve never shown up empty-handed like this so i suppose we’re even, no?”

xiao can sense that you’re trying to control yourself as you pause. then, “xiao, seriously, what happened?”

“i am serious, nothing happened. if you’re looking to be entertained, maybe you should seek zhongli out, i’m sure he can help you out.”

“what?” you throw your hands in ridicule, “please, would you stop attacking me for a moment and tell me why you’ve holed yourself up like this?”

“and what makes you think i have any compulsion to inform you of my thoughts?”

xiao doesn’t know what he’s doing but he wants to hear you say something, anything that can hurt him. he wants to be rejected, to be pushed away. a bad habit he can’t seem to put away, especially when you persist so strongly.

you sigh, “okay, since you’re clearly not in the headspace to hold a proper conversation, i’m going to leave. i’ll see you tomorrow if you’re feeling better then.”

just as you spin to leave, xiao feels himself mumble, “coward.”

you stop in your tracks, “what did you say?” when you turn around, xiao can see a flicker of optimism, hope that you misheard him.

“i called you a coward. you pretend to be strong and tell me you’re my friend, that no matter what, you’re capable of creating a relationship with me, even if i’m just a bitter, forgotten adeptus. but the second it gets hard, you run.” he laughs mirthlessly, feeling his heart bleed when a tear falls onto your cheek, “leave, you’re as selfish as they go.”

the world stills when the last words fall of his tongue — the words all lies, meant to be weapons, meant to injure. and by the crestfallen expression you pin him with, he’s sure it’s worked.

but instead of leaving like he asks you to, like he expects you to, he swears your feet dig deeper into the wood of the inn.

“you have no idea, xiao, do you? selfish, you say? do you think i cook almond tofu for you every single week, after an entire day’s of work because i have something in it for me? is it your pleasurable company i come here for, or your willingness to open up for me, even after all these days, these years. do you think i like it? no, i hate it. every single day i spend near you, it hurts. do you know what else is on wednesdays? the parlour’s weekly outing. i miss it for you, xiao, i give up time with people who would actually talk to me. and in the beginning, i was glad to have someone who listened so well. until i realised i don’t actually have you.”

you’re breaking down slowly, tears falling faster by the second, “and you know what? all of this would have been fine. but… i feel so much for you, xiao,” your voice is thin and desperate, your hands clawing at your leg. xiao’s throat is dry as you continue, “i— these feelings i have for you make it all the more painful to be near you. they’re so heavy and so overbearing and it just hurts so much because— because i know— i know you.”

xiao wants to ask what you mean — what feeling? what do you mean you know him? what about him? a shiver creeps up his shoulder but before his words are formed, you’re gone and suddenly, he is overwhelmed by the smell of almond tofu.

and this is what he realises: all this time he thought it was his love for almond tofu that made wednesdays so special, but no, it was your scent that he was looking forward to.

the night was cold and harsh

or maybe you just weren’t wearing enough layers to keep it away.

but either way, your cheeks felt especially cold as if they had been sunburnt. you did cry a lot, after all.

after managing to keep it together for the past week, you finally felt yourself sobbing when you unconsciously had made your way to wangshu inn. it was wednesday.

running as fast as your legs would take you, you thanked the archons that your house wasn’t too far.

now, about three hours later, you finally come out to the silent porch of your little cottage. you love watching qingce village in the night because besides the occasional anemo slime, it was serene and you could lie down in the privacy of your porch, watching the stars.

and like the countless other times you did this before, your hand reaches out to rest beside you, yearning for touch, to hear anything besides your own breathing.

“ah, fuck,” another tear trails down your face. you expected to feel numb by now but the realisation you had after your breakdown with xiao remained the same: you’re lonely. you didn’t expect to be lonely. you were friends with the loveliest of people, and your job was of many joys, once you ignored the initial suffering of death.

but either way, you couldn’t change the fact that it had been two long years since you’d felt a man’s touch, all thanks to your stubborn infatuation for xiao.

you found it hard to think about anyone else even when touching yourself at night but now, knowing you were no longer anywhere close to having a chance to be granted your desire for him, your mind wanders to the many offers from men you ignored.

one such proposal was prominent in your mind. kaeya was his name, you think. you suppose you could travel to monstadt. it wasn’t that late. before you can steel your conviction to move, you hear a rustling behind you.

soft footfalls followed by an even softer whisper of “y/n?” and you feel your breath pick up, the voice triggering pain and affection all at once.

you stay still, clutching the blanket around you tighter as you feel the figure approach you.

“xiao,” you acknowledge him as he enters your vision, fighting your instinct to shut yourself up in your room.

xiao looks relieved and he’s a little breathless, “y/n. you’re here.”

“i am.”

“i— i was worried when you didn’t come. it’s not like you to miss two of our meetings.”

you know he’s making you curious on purpose, making you overlook your fight, but you cave in, “two meetings?”

xiao lips lift in a smile when you take the bait, “yes. you said you were willing to talk on thursday when i wasn’t acting so... foolishly.”

“your words, not mine,” you refuse to offer him a smile, simply looking at him. he’s uneasy today, squirming but honest, eyes cast away and hands fidgety.

when silence falls, you don’t fill it even when he clears his throat and after two long minutes of looking at each other, he finally speaks first.

“about what you said that day... the— the feelings?”

the question rings clearly in his voice and you bite the inside of your cheeks, “i meant it. whether or not either of us likes it, i love you, xiao.”

you aren’t sure why you feel this confident — perhaps the surety of your last rejection affirms you or the bitterness powers you instead — but you say it clearly. clearly enough that you know that xiao’s ears turn red not from the cold, but from your words.

“i’m sorry for everything i said to you last week, but i meant it. i can’t promise everything will be the same but i need some time… away to gather my thoughts and take care of these feelings.”

“you don’t have to.”

you breathe a chuckle, “i have to try, xiao, not only for your sake but also mine.”

“no, there’s no need… there is nothing wrong with your feelings for me.”

this is when you finally raise your eyes to look at xiao and are stunned into a half-mouthed gasp at the sheer passion he offered up in his gaze. it was not different from the array of intense glares he would often arrest you with but this specific one was… disarming in the most un-xiao-like way. it was charming, gentle. vulnerable.

as if this isn’t enough to convince you that either xiao is testing some mystic adepti art on you or that you’re stuck inside some sickeningly realistic dream, xiao pads closer to you and falls to his knees, deliberate and meaningful.

“xiao? what—”

“the words i said to you that day were void of any truth. i couldn’t for a second muster the ludicrous thought that you’re selfish or cowardly. i… i am accustomed to seeing people leave, willingly or not, and without considering how you felt, i wanted to see the same happening to us.”

you are reeling from this entire situation — xiao is closer to you than he’s ever been in years and he’s speaking… a lot. like entire sentences!!!

“i am a fool. but i care about you… and not only platonically. these feelings you speak of — they seem to have settled in my chest as well.”

his breathing is heavy when he finishes and you find yourself getting breathless as well as you drop the blanket from around you.

“b-but,” you swallow against your dry throat, “but i’m mortal… i’m so weak. why—?” you seem to be unable to finish your question when xiao’s fingers hover over your palm in your lap.

distantly you realise that you’re both facing each other, knees folded and expression mirroring a look equal parts misery and adoration.

his index finger brushes your knuckles, “may i?”

you nod, allowing your colder hand to slip into his. a rush of blood bursts into your cheeks when his other hand follows, enveloping your hand.

“your mortality is not a sign of weakness. for eons, i’ve been daunted and seduced by solitude, because with the serenity follows darkness in the form of my past.”

“stupid karmic debt,” you don’t stop the bitter remark form slipping, genuinely annoyed at the unfair punishment xiao suffers.

his thumb rolls into circles on the back of your hand, “but i’ve been feel myself getting better, as if i were getting healed. and do you know what i think? you. you’ve been making me lighter, somehow making me feel something i never imagined myself capable of.”

you’re speechless and hot from the weight of his words, squeezing his hand in reply.

“i adore you, y/n. and i wish to heal you, too. the heaviness of your feelings—”

“is no longer,” you smile, hesitantly placing your free hand over his stacked ones, “if you return these feelings even in the smallest way, i am happy to embrace them at last.”

xiao is silent and then, he embraces you: a promise.

“thank you.”

everything doesn’t go back to normal. and you’re glad.

you still meet with xiao every week — now on saturdays, because no matter how many times you tell xiao you would rather feel the wind next to him, he insists you go out for drinks with hu tao and zhongli.

he sits by the table in smiley’s kitchen now and watches you when you make almond tofu — two portions this time. and when you’ve finished eating, you shift closer to xiao, knees touching and hands brushing so softly that the touch is more of a tickle, and watch as the sun disappears, dimming the world around you till you can feel nothing but xiao’s breathing, lulling you into a blissful sleep.

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tinymixtapes · 6 years ago

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Music Review: Chvrches - Love is Dead

Chvrches Love is Dead [Glassnote; 2018] Rating: 3/5 “A code which no one can explain but everyone understands.” Sound has no narrative. It doesn’t swell and end like love affair or plot like sentence. It doesn’t have a history like our bones or nodes. Its absence isn’t a death. Silence instead, is reaction, a part of the processing of the sound that came before, to the ears that heard a sound. There’s no meaning to that kind of continuum, just what we hear is what we hear. Even when intentional, whether organized into melody or scrambled into noise, sound remains a universal, unknowable and unassailable. Or: “Let the rhythm pull you in — This will touch it/ You know what I’m sayin’ and I haven’t said a thing.” (Kylie Minogue, “Slow”) Still, we wrestle it. We treat it like a lover. What did you say? What did you mean when you said it? Chvrches made a record called Love is Dead. How love? When dead? What Chvrches? It seems it’s all it means. Seems (descriptive) and means (prescriptive) are methods by which ears and eyes ascribe and infuse art with explanation. We take the sounds and images and render the sensation sensed, the ineffable as effigy. And we do it with words, equal parts extrapolation and reduction and voila: narrative. Is it history? In 2013, a Scottish synthpop band made an EP called Recover. A few months later, they released a full-length, The Bones of What You Believe. Both pieces fused the break free of dance-floor with the exaltation of arena anthem. Songs like “The Mother We Share,” “Recover,” and “Night Sky” were sticky: a body felt good moving to these sounds because a body recognized that the songs had room for it to rock with them. Chvrches flecked their songs with a belief in songs themselves, in bodies moving and the power of voice. That sincerity, however broad, felt like a viable antidote to the chilled irony of indie craftpop circa 2013. Chvrches saw how irony positioned itself above and away from beating hearts and so struck out in absorbing, engaging tones. It was “sincerity in spite of irony, which is to say sincerity within irony,” TMT’s Gabriel Samach wrote. It resonated. The band would play in the same earnest hues on 2015’s Every Open Eye in sharper resolution and higher contrasts. “Never Ending Circles,” all arms-aloft and afterglow, was the best Chvrches ever re-sounded. And then, as now, Love is Dead, the same Scottish synthpop band alive in 2018, the third album, the first with outside producers and Matt Berninger cameos. Lots of ears got their thoughts in by the deadline. And the narrative felt pretty set, even from the early singles: Love is Dead is a little flimsy. Pitched as a genuine pop gesture with the aid of producer Greg Kurstin (Adele’s “Hello,” Kelly Clarkson’s “Stronger,” etc.), the album misjudges the line between pop’s universals and specifics. It’s broad in sentiment and unspecific in feeling. Chvrches feel swallowed up in production. The hooks aren’t great and the singles, especially “Get Out” and “Never Say Die,” drift between repetitive, flattened choruses and verses unanchored to any specific image or idea. The heart of earlier efforts beat best affixed to real aches, a tether between renunciation and resolve (hope operates as a line through misery: “The way is long, but you can make it easy on me.”) Love is Dead is formally earnest and it succumbs as a product of its (unearnest) production, an art of sincerity lost underneath. Love is Dead, damnably, is sincerity in place of irony, which is to say sincerity outside irony. It has no world to tease of tense. “Rhythm doesn’t stand for anything. It can’t be proven to be in any privileged relation to the unconscious, and the same is true of melody.” Critical narrative (unlike the unconscious or sound or pop music) is a code no one can understand but everyone explains. Unlike the bolded text framing this review (notes on pop music-politic, Green Gartside and Mark Fisher in discussion), critical narrative is neither aphoristic nor hypothetical. It isn’t excited when it’s proven wrong. Rather, art that bucks the trend assigned to an artist is absorbed into the narrative. We always knew Scritti would disregard post-obtuse punk for pop success/ failure. We always knew Kylie would release a retready country record in 2018; we were laughing before it dropped. We always knew Mark Fisher would kill himself. We’re sorry for that, sure, and we’ll write a tribute, probably, but it’s all there, in the work’s words, right? Critical narrative has already moved on, like it always already does. It lacks the thing that makes Love is Dead flawed and flecked and straining, an exhilarating listen, months later, months after a review could be due. Critical narrative has no time for empathy. And beyond the product of pop (what sound seems to be) and the properness of reading art via product (how Chvrches means), the same narrative sketched above sounds different. Extract explaining, shift back to knowing. Or: “I feel, I feel, I feel/ You know I feel for you” (Kylie, “I Feel For You) “In pop music, we are dealing with a history of production that has made the improper proper. “Do you really believe that you are one of a kind?” Empathy, body to body equivalence, is a system of improper conclusions. In order to wholly feel another body’s pangs and aches, another body has to leave its self behind. Under all the proper production, Love is Dead litter glimpses into pop music as empathy, a force aimed at improper progress. Songs detail broken hearts and lost loves but never weaponize apathy. Like life and death, love and ends, empathy breeds equivalence, “And you could be my remedy/ If you could show me love,” a sound through despondency. “Graffiti” paints the foolishness of an ended tryst while celebrating the feel of being foolish: “I’ve been waiting for my whole life to grow old/ And now we never will.” Why should we sentence our selves to despondency? “Get Out,” the best buzz of the singles, abandons apathy while remaining affixed to our (and other) bodies. Repetition is a fixture of most of these songs, Lauren Mayberry turning and returning to the same words again and again (“Get, get, get out of here/ Can we get out, get out”; “Forever, forever, forever, forever/ I told you I would hate you till forever.”) Repetition highlights a moment almost maddeningly (Green Gartside: “If in doubt, I opt for stupid. I write lots of lyrics, and end up throwing away anything that sounds too clever”), but the madness here is of prizing others like we prize our selves, illogic only in service of something like love. And with “Graves,” Love is Dead shows what that madness is for, detailing bodies on shorelines and mad kings in high castles. It doesn’t bang like “Keep You On My Side” or even “Lies,” but it engages in engaging, even with the monsters: “If you don’t have a heart, I can offer you mine.” Love is Dead fits the complaints of its narrative, sketched above and elsewhere. It is often not as exhilarating as other moments in Chvrches’ breadth. The mode of proper production disservices the trajectory of an improper urge (namely, that bodies can know bodies through singing and dancing.) Pop is at its best improperly, transfiguratively. But seeming to know doesn’t stand for knowing to feel. And to dismiss any pop as broad and derivative means siding with seem over feel, irony over sincerity, apathy over empathy. “Ask me no questions, and I will tell you no lies,” Mayberry sings, confessing, “I’m not asking for a miracle.” And there as with the rest of a frustrating, exalting album, what initially feels like formal sincerity is revealed to be empathy in place of sincerity, which is to say sincerity through irony. “Out in the general text, resemblance passes for truth. In my little hot house, the appearance of difference passes for truth. And it goes on.” It’s easy to feel despondent. Mark Fisher killed himself, seemingly when he’d found a way through writing to keep living. Green is mostly functionally self-disappeared, no longer making sounds. Kylie’s still around, but in the mostly retro-mode country-impression, Golden. And Chvrches made the overproduced, under-realized Love is Dead The miracle of pop music isn’t its resemblance to truth, but rather its creation of it. Pop bangs best in the empathy mode; the beat moves our bodies when we measure it against our hearts. Empathy, a philosophy of hearing and feeling heard, is paramount to pop, via Gartside (“To do what I should do/ To long for you to hear/ I open up my heart”) and Kylie (“Do you wanna hear me sing?/ Pop, pop, pop, pop”) and Chvrches (“If none of this is real/ Then show me what you feel”). Or: “I’ll meet you there, at the moment where despair end and tactics begin” (Mark Fisher.) Maybe empathy is the tactic and the beginning. Maybe all it is is getting into a loop, bodies in sync with bodies. It goes on. Dancing is still honest, like, “When I go out, I wanna go out dancing” (Kylie, “Dancing.”) The way is long, but you can make it easy on me if I make it easy on you. Or: “You better give up on giving up.” (Chvrches, “Deliverance.”) http://j.mp/2NEXvAm

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