this is the thing. when lu bixing first heard lin jingheng's voice, he immediately asked zhanlu for a relaxant. a strong one. because he knew, he knew, in that moment of crisis, this was going to be a nuclear explosion somewhere in his chest cavity. he knew he was going to fall apart, and he'd started to. in the heart of the rose, with the whole world stretched and dilated and wrong, lu bixing's entire soul shattered.
but that relxant's long since worn off, and he can't just keep his cool, can't try and dam up a rush of emotions that threaten to choke him alive. he sucks in a breath, a hiccup, when lin jingheng puts his hands on him, and his eyes well up with tears. ]
You're - [ what can he even say? ] Lin, you're really -
[ the words die off with a choked sob, and he finally releases the jumpsuit with one hand, touches, a hand to his neck, constantly feeling for pulse, pulse, pulse, and each beat he can feel makes it more solid. makes it feel more real. his head bumps against lin jingheng's in a nuzzle, just the sort of desperate press one has to. he thinks he's going to shake apart. he thinks he's going to burst, like a supernova, right now in the middle of this... wherever they are, because he can't shake free of a single emotion when there are so many that the floodgates are too small. his hands are trembling, enough that he doesn't even notice the lack of his strength from his biochip.
and eventually, he's decided, that nothing else matters. not the wormhole that must have stretched them both apart. not the eighth galaxy. not the ius. not anything in the world but the fact that he's holding onto lin jingheng who is supposed to be dead, and he thinks with a slightly hystiercal tilt, we're both dead, hiccups, and crushes the resulting near spark of panic in his brain by doing the smartest and only thing he can do.
that is to say, obviously, he kisses lin jingheng.
much like the one in the wormhole, it's not clean - there's the knock of teeth together, the bite into soft flesh, and it doesn't last long, but it's just a reminder for an incredibly dazed and sick and exhausted lu bixing that the person in front of him is no constructed clone or hologram, but a real, live person.
[ lin jingheng thinks for a moment that he is still dreaming, drifting, pulling his consciousness back together slowly. but when teeth click against his own, he realizes just how flesh and blood under his fingers lu bixing is and holds faster to him like iron.
don't think about it, don't be afraid. he surges forward like he could consume the tremor behind his teeth. he bites down on his lip briefly like an animal. it's okay. i'm here. and then lets go.
his hand drifts up to curl into the fall of lu bixing's hair, his brow furrowed into concentration as he stays close, tethered without fear of floating away for just this moment. it passes, and he drifts back, eyes focused on him and only him.
of all the people who do not deserve this... lin jingheng feels the rage boiling behind his eyes, tight heat in his jaw as he nods. which he shouldn't because it makes him dizzy, and soon they're leaning against one another again, and jingheng can only try to hold less like a desperate drowning man and more like a solid pillar. ]
[ okay well he's crying now. he is definitely crying. no zhanlu to jam him with a sedative - tears well up in lu bixing's eyes, dripping down his cheeks like he's a ghibli character even after the bite. it just feels real, it's real, and it's lin, and that's all that matters, the sting of pain so bright that it reminds him why he's alive, like six carved marks on a desk, like the burn of a cigarette against his forearm.
who cares, if he's in hell? who cares, if he feels like he's going to shake apart? who cares if the last thing he did was nearly overdose on relaxant (again) and fire a missile and then jump right into a wormhole with the love of his life? the love of his life, who is here in front of him, and he manages a wet, miserable laugh, shaking his head against lin jingheng's. ]
The Heart of the Rose. [ he says. it was his stupid fault, really - he should've put on his oxygen mask. lu bixing hiccups, once, finally pulling back just enough to rub his still red eyes. ] I think I'm dreaming.
[ he obviously knows he's not. his hand stills against lin jingheng's pulse, and he presses almost insistently into the hand in his hair, like a puppy, nuzzling up into it because he can. ]
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no subject
this is the thing. when lu bixing first heard lin jingheng's voice, he immediately asked zhanlu for a relaxant. a strong one. because he knew, he knew, in that moment of crisis, this was going to be a nuclear explosion somewhere in his chest cavity. he knew he was going to fall apart, and he'd started to. in the heart of the rose, with the whole world stretched and dilated and wrong, lu bixing's entire soul shattered.
but that relxant's long since worn off, and he can't just keep his cool, can't try and dam up a rush of emotions that threaten to choke him alive. he sucks in a breath, a hiccup, when lin jingheng puts his hands on him, and his eyes well up with tears. ]
You're - [ what can he even say? ] Lin, you're really -
[ the words die off with a choked sob, and he finally releases the jumpsuit with one hand, touches, a hand to his neck, constantly feeling for pulse, pulse, pulse, and each beat he can feel makes it more solid. makes it feel more real. his head bumps against lin jingheng's in a nuzzle, just the sort of desperate press one has to. he thinks he's going to shake apart. he thinks he's going to burst, like a supernova, right now in the middle of this... wherever they are, because he can't shake free of a single emotion when there are so many that the floodgates are too small. his hands are trembling, enough that he doesn't even notice the lack of his strength from his biochip.
and eventually, he's decided, that nothing else matters. not the wormhole that must have stretched them both apart. not the eighth galaxy. not the ius. not anything in the world but the fact that he's holding onto lin jingheng who is supposed to be dead, and he thinks with a slightly hystiercal tilt, we're both dead, hiccups, and crushes the resulting near spark of panic in his brain by doing the smartest and only thing he can do.
that is to say, obviously, he kisses lin jingheng.
much like the one in the wormhole, it's not clean - there's the knock of teeth together, the bite into soft flesh, and it doesn't last long, but it's just a reminder for an incredibly dazed and sick and exhausted lu bixing that the person in front of him is no constructed clone or hologram, but a real, live person.
(even if maybe live is subjective.) ]
no subject
don't think about it, don't be afraid. he surges forward like he could consume the tremor behind his teeth. he bites down on his lip briefly like an animal. it's okay. i'm here. and then lets go.
his hand drifts up to curl into the fall of lu bixing's hair, his brow furrowed into concentration as he stays close, tethered without fear of floating away for just this moment. it passes, and he drifts back, eyes focused on him and only him.
of all the people who do not deserve this... lin jingheng feels the rage boiling behind his eyes, tight heat in his jaw as he nods. which he shouldn't because it makes him dizzy, and soon they're leaning against one another again, and jingheng can only try to hold less like a desperate drowning man and more like a solid pillar. ]
You look like you're going to fall over.
no subject
who cares, if he's in hell? who cares, if he feels like he's going to shake apart? who cares if the last thing he did was nearly overdose on relaxant (again) and fire a missile and then jump right into a wormhole with the love of his life? the love of his life, who is here in front of him, and he manages a wet, miserable laugh, shaking his head against lin jingheng's. ]
The Heart of the Rose. [ he says. it was his stupid fault, really - he should've put on his oxygen mask. lu bixing hiccups, once, finally pulling back just enough to rub his still red eyes. ] I think I'm dreaming.
[ he obviously knows he's not. his hand stills against lin jingheng's pulse, and he presses almost insistently into the hand in his hair, like a puppy, nuzzling up into it because he can. ]