[ what a disorienting thing, to awaken like this - after being stretched apart and pushed together, after the wormhole sent lu bixing into a tailspin -- no. no, he was already in a tailspin, he was already in one, because the relaxant wore off and lu bixing wasn't hallucinating a single second of it.
he's real.
lin jingheng is real, and he's still here, and -
when the disorienting sensation of arrival clears, he's dizzy and a little nauseous. ten years could have passed, or twenty, or five minutes, or ten seconds, who knows? there's the sense that he died. did he die? does he care?
he doesn't.
lu bixing realizes with a start that he's in a different position than he was just before. his head snaps up, looking left, right, like a panicked animal, and then he spots - well, strange clothes, but he spots lin jingheng and just reaches out and grabs him, hands fisting tight in the front of that jumpsuit.
his hands are shaking. he's wide eyed and sucks in a short, shallow breath. ] Lin.
[ everything is wrong. it's not quiet enough, he can breathe, and when his eyes snap open and the unfamiliar clothing locks into place as details taken in by the millisecond he knows that he is not adrift any longer. he blinks slowly, though his instincts are honed, a knife of a man first. his fingers close fast around lu bixing's wrist.
this isn't right. this...
god this highlighter pink is killing his eyes. he squints. while his wounds are healed, everything in him is still swimming, nerves on fire down to his knees. they're breathing in the same air. he grabs his wrist just to pull him closer, like he's about to flutter away. fingers tangle in offensively bright fabric until his knuckles crack just a bit.
lu bixing. ]
You.
[ softer, his voice hoarse. ] You're here. How are you here...?
[ this is likely torture, tantalus, everything you want just out of reach. this is a dream, or a nightmare, there's no way... ]
[ what kind of a question is this?! this is so lin jingheng that lu bixing chokes half of a laugh?!?! ]
Me? Shouldn't I be saying that to you?! [ who died, lin jingheng? who was gone? who just appeared like a bolt out of the blue, shaking lu bixing down to his very core? he wants to cry. or laugh. or scream. he's not really sure which.
... it ends up the latter, a hiccup of a noise, and he fists his hands tighter in the jumpsuit. the relaxant number six has long since worn off, and he feels dizzy and sick and - if he didn't just fire a missile at the union, he'd think he was dreaming. if he didn't know. ]
[ so much happening in such a compressed moment in time, sucked down to the marrow, eviscerated by the toothy grip of the wormhole. he breathes in, he breathes out, slow and with the barest hint of a tremble. lin jingheng does not bow to fear, but he's been walking on his knees over grains of rice for too long. he hears the hiccup, and when he speaks his voice shakes like the softest twitching of a tree bough.
his he real? his thumb twitches, digging in. ]
I don't have an answer you'll like.
[ the silence in the lack of atmosphere, the constriction like a fist around his heart, by comparison lu bixing's voice is deafening. but it is the only thunderous sound he'll tolerate besides his heart pounding a pulse in his ears. he can't see or feel any dregs of zhanlu as he takes a mental inventory, running it parallel alongside the slowly mounting panic in his stomach.
there's a beat he holds himself still like a statue. he's desperate, grasping, clinging for some kind of anchor, but he feels like he's floating, disoriented still, and lu bixing is the only thing to moor him now. he take lu bixing's hand and pushes it to his chest, holds it there for a moment. it's stilted, jagged. but it's there. he should feel it, the human beat of him, pulse and all. ]
he felt it in the wormhole, too. just once - a single, slow heartbeat. as lin jingheng touches his hand, he'll find them lightly blistered like they were before, and lu bixing sucks in a breath as he feels it. a heartbeat. one, single heartbeat. alive. alive, they're both - ]
We -
[ he should say something. the scientific part of his brain is whirring, but lu bixing can't even doing anything with a rational head. lin jingheng is alive. this is why he took the relaxant, before, because he knew this might kill him, and dizzily, het hinks, it might have. can he cry? his eyes are welling up with tears, his face crumpling as he clutches tighter onto the jumpsuit, desperately, like he could climb into the cavity of lin jingheng's chest.
please don't expect him to be useful because he can't be at this moment. ]
[ this isn't the safety of a shuttle, it's the safety of (warm) oxygen filling their lungs, the frigid horror of space kilometers away. he presses his forehead suddenly to lu bixing's a sharp "thunk" as they meet. ]
I...
[ he clutches him belatedly, it takes a moment, moving his fingers to tangle one in warm hair, the other at the waist of lu bixing's jumpsuit. ]
This isn't right.
[ it doesn't feel right. we can't be alive. lin jingheng knows that he died, he felt it, still feels it in how his insides churn. he doesn't say anything else, just shakes his head and holds tighter instead. distracts. he's thinner. the both of them are. ]
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. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
weekend 0, friday. :)
he's real.
lin jingheng is real, and he's still here, and -
when the disorienting sensation of arrival clears, he's dizzy and a little nauseous. ten years could have passed, or twenty, or five minutes, or ten seconds, who knows? there's the sense that he died. did he die? does he care?
he doesn't.
lu bixing realizes with a start that he's in a different position than he was just before. his head snaps up, looking left, right, like a panicked animal, and then he spots - well, strange clothes, but he spots lin jingheng and just reaches out and grabs him, hands fisting tight in the front of that jumpsuit.
his hands are shaking. he's wide eyed and sucks in a short, shallow breath. ] Lin.
sweatyyyy
this isn't right. this...
god this highlighter pink is killing his eyes. he squints. while his wounds are healed, everything in him is still swimming, nerves on fire down to his knees. they're breathing in the same air. he grabs his wrist just to pull him closer, like he's about to flutter away. fingers tangle in offensively bright fabric until his knuckles crack just a bit.
lu bixing. ]
You.
[ softer, his voice hoarse. ] You're here. How are you here...?
[ this is likely torture, tantalus, everything you want just out of reach. this is a dream, or a nightmare, there's no way... ]
no subject
Me? Shouldn't I be saying that to you?! [ who died, lin jingheng? who was gone? who just appeared like a bolt out of the blue, shaking lu bixing down to his very core? he wants to cry. or laugh. or scream. he's not really sure which.
... it ends up the latter, a hiccup of a noise, and he fists his hands tighter in the jumpsuit. the relaxant number six has long since worn off, and he feels dizzy and sick and - if he didn't just fire a missile at the union, he'd think he was dreaming. if he didn't know. ]
no subject
his he real? his thumb twitches, digging in. ]
I don't have an answer you'll like.
[ the silence in the lack of atmosphere, the constriction like a fist around his heart, by comparison lu bixing's voice is deafening. but it is the only thunderous sound he'll tolerate besides his heart pounding a pulse in his ears. he can't see or feel any dregs of zhanlu as he takes a mental inventory, running it parallel alongside the slowly mounting panic in his stomach.
there's a beat he holds himself still like a statue. he's desperate, grasping, clinging for some kind of anchor, but he feels like he's floating, disoriented still, and lu bixing is the only thing to moor him now. he take lu bixing's hand and pushes it to his chest, holds it there for a moment. it's stilted, jagged. but it's there. he should feel it, the human beat of him, pulse and all. ]
Alive... [
unspoken: we were so fucking close. ]no subject
he felt it in the wormhole, too. just once - a single, slow heartbeat. as lin jingheng touches his hand, he'll find them lightly blistered like they were before, and lu bixing sucks in a breath as he feels it. a heartbeat. one, single heartbeat. alive. alive, they're both - ]
We -
[ he should say something. the scientific part of his brain is whirring, but lu bixing can't even doing anything with a rational head. lin jingheng is alive. this is why he took the relaxant, before, because he knew this might kill him, and dizzily, het hinks, it might have. can he cry? his eyes are welling up with tears, his face crumpling as he clutches tighter onto the jumpsuit, desperately, like he could climb into the cavity of lin jingheng's chest.
please don't expect him to be useful because he can't be at this moment. ]
Lin, [ a hiccup. ] You're alive.
no subject
I...
[ he clutches him belatedly, it takes a moment, moving his fingers to tangle one in warm hair, the other at the waist of lu bixing's jumpsuit. ]
This isn't right.
[ it doesn't feel right. we can't be alive. lin jingheng knows that he died, he felt it, still feels it in how his insides churn. he doesn't say anything else, just shakes his head and holds tighter instead. distracts. he's thinner. the both of them are. ]
You're here with me. Fuck everything else.
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. ]