The touch is what breaks him, a low broken sob slipping from his lips before he can halt the noise, the warmth of Mingjue's hand closing around one of his warring with the memories of the funeral, of the vigil he'd kept and Xichen crumples his legs just giving out before he sinks to the ground.

"..How?" It's low, pain in his voice, but the question still reaching Mingjue's ears, at least he thinks it does. "I..." He swallows hard, searching for the words but nothing is coming to his mind, his gaze still locked on Mingjue's face.

"..This isn't a dream, right?"