[ lin jingheng closes his eyes as the water hits him. he lets it strike and counts as many drops as he can until he loses the number, because he's lost more than that. he's thinking, truly thinking, and all he remembers are the words leaving what looked to be his mouth, two bodies, each answering like two parts of the same whole.
but he hadn't felt there at all. out of body, floating, distant. he remembers that, fighting to the surface to touch electricity, to send out a message with a brush of his mind let me out let me out let me out.
when the curtain shivers and lu bixing steps in, he moves a bit, lets him have his space only to be given pause by the warmth between his shoulders. the soft curling of lu bixing's hair against the drops of water sliding down his back. he reaches (carefully) for a hand, taking it in his own to cup the knuckles, gazing into the palm like he could read it as easily as that old fortune teller could.
but he doesn't see anything. he doesn't see the line of his own disaster, doesn't see what he's brought lu bixing down to. instead. he thumbs softly, at the pin pricks on his forearms, smooths palms down. what have i done to you? he asks himself, now more than ever.
he lifts up one of lu bixing's hands carefully and presses the fingertips to his lips, not a kiss, just a quiet touch. ]
I'll allow it.
[ this is so untrue, but lin jingheng would move heaven and earth and break all of the rules if it meant lu bixing would smile. ]
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but he hadn't felt there at all. out of body, floating, distant. he remembers that, fighting to the surface to touch electricity, to send out a message with a brush of his mind let me out let me out let me out.
when the curtain shivers and lu bixing steps in, he moves a bit, lets him have his space only to be given pause by the warmth between his shoulders. the soft curling of lu bixing's hair against the drops of water sliding down his back. he reaches (carefully) for a hand, taking it in his own to cup the knuckles, gazing into the palm like he could read it as easily as that old fortune teller could.
but he doesn't see anything. he doesn't see the line of his own disaster, doesn't see what he's brought lu bixing down to. instead. he thumbs softly, at the pin pricks on his forearms, smooths palms down. what have i done to you? he asks himself, now more than ever.
he lifts up one of lu bixing's hands carefully and presses the fingertips to his lips, not a kiss, just a quiet touch. ]
I'll allow it.
[ this is so untrue, but lin jingheng would move heaven and earth and break all of the rules if it meant lu bixing would smile. ]