[ alive. he's alive. he's alive. lu bixing has been repeating this mantra to himself every single day since he's gotten here, and he's doing it right now, too. he's solid. he's real. he's right here, under lu bixing's nose, in his fingers, under his body. he's grounding himself to it with every technique that his brilliant brain can manage, before he disassociates off of this plane of existence. he lets the nails at the back of his neck, the sound of zhanlu singing.
he hiccups, again, and shakes his head, burying his face in his shoulder even harder. he's soaking lin's shoulder now, his own shoulders trembling, as he breathes in. cigarette smoke and aftershave. whiskey and lin jingheng. breathe in, breathe out. breathe in, breathe out. (he almost lost him again, he'd been alive and he was miserable and trapped and he almost died and lin jingshu tried to keep him like a flower in a glass dome and lu bixing feels this irrationally angry twist of hatred that's so unlike him that it knocks him almost breathless again and he shivers, forces it back) ]
It's -
[ soft. it's not fine. it's not at all. he can't say that. ]
Two... two thousand times, you said. [ is what lu bixing manages, shakily, curling his fingers white knuckled into the fabric of lin's coat. ] I should have - We could have found you.
[ he slides fingers over the white knuckled grip lu bixing has his coat in, strokes down the trembling tendons and closes his eyes. he cocoons them in, and the theatre remains fairly dark and still just for the two of them. ]
She made sure we'd never be found...
[ "i didn't expect you to find us. i don't hold that against you." he clutches back against lu bixing, meets his eyes, his trembling voice. he presses against his chest, steadies him with the pressure of their hearts thudding rapidly against one another. nightmare after nightmare, his head is swimming. ]
he takes a slow, steadying breath and lets lin's fingers ground him. it feels like a dam has broken - he's done decently at keeping himself from crying except their very first day, but the tears are starting now and won't stop, and he just lets them fall.
seeing lin nearly die again on the screen, and knowing what happened in that seventeen year block is both horrifying and comforting in a twisted way (knowing he wasn't living some other life but hell, instead). it's also distracting from the horror of his own guilt and shame of the seventeen years he lived without him, too, and he just sinks into lin jingheng and shakes his head against his jacket. ]
I'm so sorry. [ he says, instead, quietly. muffled. miserably. sorry more that he had to go through it than anything - that he was alone. ]
[ slowly he strokes his hair, lets his fingers taper down to his neck and squeezes gently. for a while, he stays like this, frozen save for the mechanical motions to soothe bixing, who is crying into his shoulder, wetting his shirt and making him wish he could find the strength in him to pull him back and wipe them away. but he can't because he's so tired. between the both of them, there are years of aches and pains they've had to grow up without one another to help soothe.
wind-battered and sea-struck ships in a vast sea of the unknown. ]
I found you... [ soft, clutching him harder. ] I found you, it doesn't matter anymore.
[ me just like im in a mood let me do my gay little lulins
just feeling that lin jingheng is there is enough. knowing that he's a solid, real presence in lu bixing's arms helps him with the worst of his nightmares. helps him when he wakes up terrified on friday mornings, always gasping for air and clutching at the space beside him. it helps him when he's scared and insecure, when he thinks about the hateful person he's turned into, helps him when he wonders when lin jingheng is going to wise up and leave him again. but he doesn't. he's right here.
he hiccups. the noise is soft, muffled, and he buries his face in his shoulder further, nuzzling, soaking his jacket and probably getting a little snot on it as he takes a couple of deep, shaky breaths and holds onto him like an anchor.
it doesn't matter anymore. that's all he can really do for the moment, just stay there, burrowed against lin jingheng and taking deep breaths to try and keep from having a panic attack. it's fine. he's fine. everything's fine. ]
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he hiccups, again, and shakes his head, burying his face in his shoulder even harder. he's soaking lin's shoulder now, his own shoulders trembling, as he breathes in. cigarette smoke and aftershave. whiskey and lin jingheng. breathe in, breathe out. breathe in, breathe out. (he almost lost him again, he'd been alive and he was miserable and trapped and he almost died and lin jingshu tried to keep him like a flower in a glass dome and lu bixing feels this irrationally angry twist of hatred that's so unlike him that it knocks him almost breathless again and he shivers, forces it back) ]
It's -
[ soft. it's not fine. it's not at all. he can't say that. ]
Two... two thousand times, you said. [ is what lu bixing manages, shakily, curling his fingers white knuckled into the fabric of lin's coat. ] I should have - We could have found you.
no subject
[ he slides fingers over the white knuckled grip lu bixing has his coat in, strokes down the trembling tendons and closes his eyes. he cocoons them in, and the theatre remains fairly dark and still just for the two of them. ]
She made sure we'd never be found...
[ "i didn't expect you to find us. i don't hold that against you." he clutches back against lu bixing, meets his eyes, his trembling voice. he presses against his chest, steadies him with the pressure of their hearts thudding rapidly against one another. nightmare after nightmare, his head is swimming. ]
Don't.
no subject
he takes a slow, steadying breath and lets lin's fingers ground him. it feels like a dam has broken - he's done decently at keeping himself from crying except their very first day, but the tears are starting now and won't stop, and he just lets them fall.
seeing lin nearly die again on the screen, and knowing what happened in that seventeen year block is both horrifying and comforting in a twisted way (knowing he wasn't living some other life but hell, instead). it's also distracting from the horror of his own guilt and shame of the seventeen years he lived without him, too, and he just sinks into lin jingheng and shakes his head against his jacket. ]
I'm so sorry. [ he says, instead, quietly. muffled. miserably. sorry more that he had to go through it than anything - that he was alone. ]
no subject
wind-battered and sea-struck ships in a vast sea of the unknown. ]
I found you... [ soft, clutching him harder. ] I found you, it doesn't matter anymore.
no subject
just feeling that lin jingheng is there is enough. knowing that he's a solid, real presence in lu bixing's arms helps him with the worst of his nightmares. helps him when he wakes up terrified on friday mornings, always gasping for air and clutching at the space beside him. it helps him when he's scared and insecure, when he thinks about the hateful person he's turned into, helps him when he wonders when lin jingheng is going to wise up and leave him again. but he doesn't. he's right here.
he hiccups. the noise is soft, muffled, and he buries his face in his shoulder further, nuzzling, soaking his jacket and probably getting a little snot on it as he takes a couple of deep, shaky breaths and holds onto him like an anchor.
it doesn't matter anymore. that's all he can really do for the moment, just stay there, burrowed against lin jingheng and taking deep breaths to try and keep from having a panic attack. it's fine. he's fine. everything's fine. ]