[ and so, here lies the problem. the problem is that lu bixing has too much to say. it's like there's been a dam holding back every single one of his lin jingheng related emotions for the past ten years, and now that the dam can finally come down, the escape valve for the water is too small. he wants to say everything, and the thought of it is so overwhelming that he doesn't know where to start. he wants to ask, too, the details of where he was, of why he never made it back, of how he survived, of everything. he wants to tell lin jingheng how much he loves him, how much he missed him, how - how impossible it felt to keep moving when he had to, how he had known he could lose him at any time but nothing could've prepared him for it, how angry he was at his recklessness (again, always), how he spent his years -
but he can't pick a place to start. he sucks in a breath, shaky, and goosebumps pebble underneath lin jingheng's thumb. the alcohol in his veins from the trial is working in ways it normally doesn't, his carefully self disciplined tolerance and sneaky ways around it lost to him with no access to the biochip lin jingheng doesn't know he now has, and it's making his mouth want to run, but he can't find the shamelessness he had once upon a time, either. what can i do, lin asks. the simple answer, the thing he wants - lu bixing can't even ask for it.
love me. tell me i'm not so broken beyond repair that i'm going to scare you away. ]
I - I. I. [ so he starts, and he stops, he starts, and he stops, trying again, over and over, and nothing. nothing's happening. it's overwhelming, its too much. how can he just speak his mind when it's a torrent?
he turns his hand a little suddenly, enough that when lin's hand comes to his pulse, he takes it, instead, and squeezes it. hard, probably a little too hard. like he's afraid any second now he'll disappear - even after a week, he is.
... but that's all he can do. he can't seem to tell him anything, the paralysis of indecision and emotion too much. your move, lin jingheng. ]
no subject
but he can't pick a place to start. he sucks in a breath, shaky, and goosebumps pebble underneath lin jingheng's thumb. the alcohol in his veins from the trial is working in ways it normally doesn't, his carefully self disciplined tolerance and sneaky ways around it lost to him with no access to the biochip lin jingheng doesn't know he now has, and it's making his mouth want to run, but he can't find the shamelessness he had once upon a time, either. what can i do, lin asks. the simple answer, the thing he wants - lu bixing can't even ask for it.
love me. tell me i'm not so broken beyond repair that i'm going to scare you away. ]
I - I. I. [ so he starts, and he stops, he starts, and he stops, trying again, over and over, and nothing. nothing's happening. it's overwhelming, its too much. how can he just speak his mind when it's a torrent?
he turns his hand a little suddenly, enough that when lin's hand comes to his pulse, he takes it, instead, and squeezes it. hard, probably a little too hard. like he's afraid any second now he'll disappear - even after a week, he is.
... but that's all he can do. he can't seem to tell him anything, the paralysis of indecision and emotion too much. your move, lin jingheng. ]