[ 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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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. ]