lu bixing watches him do this - his breath catches, as he reaches up to touch, fingertips twitching a little, and then... as his hand settles out, he breathes out. like he's been exalted. to feel him - solid, alive, real, not a hologram that he made in a fit of madness, not a cruel, short dream he desperately wanted to stay in when he woke up in the morning.
he thumbs at lin jingheng's cheek - able to do so without trembling, finally, but trying not to stare at him for too long, trying to remember how all of his broken parts are supposed to work together, and manages a little smile, mouth crooking up at the corner - hopeless, rueful, sad, but there. ]
...You came back to me.
[ is what he finally says, barely loud enough to be heard. ]
[ nothing would stop him, not even death. clasping hands, there one moment, pain the next, and now this, just this. he clings to him with honesty now, letting his own face drift towards lu bixing's palm a moment to allow himself the honor.
he holds that hand to his face a selfish moment longer. ]
I... made a promise to you.
[ he focuses then on the little tug of lu bixing's mouth, and his own thumb slides up to hold his jaw, to stroke a little against that twitch. ]
[ alright well he's crying, now. it's impossible to stop it - tears leak from his eyes and fall down his cheeks, and lu bixing swallows a lump in his throat, the hand on lin's face flexing, once, and then gripping harder. it's probably a good thing that his biochip isn't active. he'd probably hurt him.
he turns his face into his hand and hiccups, a sob that's childish and silly and unbecoming of the prime minister of the eighth galaxy, but just can't help himself. there's nothing else to say, for the moment - all he can do is cry, and finally drop his hand away from lin jingheng's face to hook around him and pull him in closer again, to breathe him in and feel him, alive and solid and realer than anything he's ever dreamed in the long, long seventeen years that passed, and just sobs into his shoulder, body wracking misery that's finally found the tiniest outlet for release. ]
Edited (no not the repetitive icon) 2023-02-11 14:52 (UTC)
[ man i hate jingheng because he isn't going to say anything, but that's just because lu bixing knows that he can give everything he needs to give him without saying a single woord. he holds him closer, draws him in against his chest and sinks into the back of the seating, holding him as close as the boundaries of their bodies allow.
he feels the intensity of his crying, and just strokes at his hair, won't tell him to stop, because wouldn't that be worse? it is not so much unbecoming, as jingheng only knows that he needs to anchor bixing here and now as they weather this insanity.
finally, lin jingheng turns his head from the way they have tucked themselves against each other like a pair of birds. he presses his forehead to bixing's temples with a soft bonk. ]
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lu bixing watches him do this - his breath catches, as he reaches up to touch, fingertips twitching a little, and then... as his hand settles out, he breathes out. like he's been exalted. to feel him - solid, alive, real, not a hologram that he made in a fit of madness, not a cruel, short dream he desperately wanted to stay in when he woke up in the morning.
he thumbs at lin jingheng's cheek - able to do so without trembling, finally, but trying not to stare at him for too long, trying to remember how all of his broken parts are supposed to work together, and manages a little smile, mouth crooking up at the corner - hopeless, rueful, sad, but there. ]
...You came back to me.
[ is what he finally says, barely loud enough to be heard. ]
no subject
[ nothing would stop him, not even death. clasping hands, there one moment, pain the next, and now this, just this. he clings to him with honesty now, letting his own face drift towards lu bixing's palm a moment to allow himself the honor.
he holds that hand to his face a selfish moment longer. ]
I... made a promise to you.
[ he focuses then on the little tug of lu bixing's mouth, and his own thumb slides up to hold his jaw, to stroke a little against that twitch. ]
Bixing.
no subject
he turns his face into his hand and hiccups, a sob that's childish and silly and unbecoming of the prime minister of the eighth galaxy, but just can't help himself. there's nothing else to say, for the moment - all he can do is cry, and finally drop his hand away from lin jingheng's face to hook around him and pull him in closer again, to breathe him in and feel him, alive and solid and realer than anything he's ever dreamed in the long, long seventeen years that passed, and just sobs into his shoulder, body wracking misery that's finally found the tiniest outlet for release. ]
no subject
he feels the intensity of his crying, and just strokes at his hair, won't tell him to stop, because wouldn't that be worse? it is not so much unbecoming, as jingheng only knows that he needs to anchor bixing here and now as they weather this insanity.
finally, lin jingheng turns his head from the way they have tucked themselves against each other like a pair of birds. he presses his forehead to bixing's temples with a soft bonk. ]