dumbshow | highly new, slightly improved open post

[Huaisang settles, picking up a cup just holding it for a moment, enjoying the warmth i his hands and the aroma of the tea. It would be nice, he thinks, to just have tea with Jiang Cheng like they could back in Gusu, without... everything else.

And ah, here's everything else to rear its unpleasant head again, because it's everything else that left him staring at Jiang Cheng. He glances up, eyebrows raised, almost like he's surprised by the question.]

I— um, no. [He looks exactly how Huaisang remembers him, if not, well--] You look tired.

[He raises the cup to drink, sedately. A year ago he could have teased Jiang Cheng about the Nie robes, or done anything but sedately sip tea, which feels unnatural even to him. But, times being what they are... Hmm.]

It's good to see you. I didn't know— My brother didn't tell me everyone who's supposed to be coming.

[He looks tired, he feels tired. Even sitting here, now, is tiring, because this is so peaceful that he doesn't know how to trust it. How does he savor this? He can't. He can't savor anything, because he knows sooner or later it will shatter, everything shatters, his home his family his sense of peace his heart--

The only thing that's been steady is Huaisang.

Not necessarily to Jiang Cheng, mind you. He hasn't seen him in ages. But at least this, here, now, is the same: Huaisang sitting with a cup of tea, perpetually safe in Qinghe, somehow untouched by the war.

So . . . so look at Huaisang, then, he tells himself. Look at him, and don't look away, because everything else in his life is a bloody wreck, everything else in his life is confusing and terrifying and awful, but at least there's this. At least he knows Huaisang still, even if he doesn't know himself anymore.]

Mm.

[It's good to see you, and the words stick in his throat. It is good to see him. It's better than Huaisang can imagine. But instead of saying that-- instead of saying anything-- he ducks his head and sips at his tea and tries not to fall apart.]

They burned Lotus Pier down. Did you know?

[Was that what he meant to say? No. Is it what popped out anyway? Yes. And it's funny, because it happened ages ago, of course Huaisang knows, everyone knows, but--

Everyone knows, and so there's never been any need to say it out loud. He stares at him, slightly lost, eyes darting about his face.]

[Ah, so they're going to talk about it, huh. Huaisang opens his mouth to speak and shuts it again, frowning. It's not that he doesn't know what to say - like, he doesn't, but it's not that; it's the phrasing, it's the dozen unasked questions he equally doesn't have answers for, it's everything. Once again, it's everything.

It would be easy to sit in Qinghe and block out the world for the rest of this war, but Huaisang can't as long as his brother is involved, and Jiang Cheng— he knows what role he serves. It's not hard to realize that he is the steadying presence, somehow, when he's been so often scolded for being flighty and unreliable before. He is that for Mingjue, and now if he can be that for Jiang Cheng, well...

Mm. Take two.]

I heard. And while Xichen was still missing, too—

[Things were, hm, unhappy in the Nie household for a while there. Skipping that for now...]

I'm sorry, [he says, though he's sure Jiang Cheng doesn't need any more sympathy. Huaisang doesn't think "my parents also died young!" is, like, great material here... err.] You should get some rest, so...

I can't.

[Is this better or worse than that awful, awkward stiffness of before? He really doesn't know, but it really doesn't matter: it's coming anyway, words slipping past his lips faster and faster, because Huaisang is steady and safe and easy, so, so easy, unlike anything else. Wei Wuxian is a catastrophe of unanswered questions and Yanli is safe within the Jin clan and there's no one else, there's no one else who could possibly understand right now.]

I don't sleep anymore. I just . . . I lay my head down when I can't stay up any longer, and then I pass out. I can't rest, Huaisang, I can't . . . not until they're all dead.

[Oh, but if that doesn't break his heart instantly. The Jiang Cheng he knew at Cloud Recesses was never sunny, no, but to hear him dissolve into this utter despair right in front of him like this is so— he puts his cup down, lest he grip it too tight and spill it everywhere.

He doesn't think to sway Jiang Cheng away from his revenge; that seems stupid, at best. But it would be nice if he could sleep, wouldn't it... Just once.

And maybe that's it, maybe Jiang Cheng's hasty confession that he doesn't even sleep anymore pushes Huaisang to cross a boundary or two. He motions silently for Jiang Cheng to stay right there, he'll be right back, then stands and crosses to the door— which he slides shut. Firmly. Pointedly. They're alone in here, and so— so Jiang Cheng can be something besides the tragically young Sect Leader Jiang now.

Maybe? He still can't think of anything worth saying when he turns back to Jiang Cheng, and so in the absence of any words that sound right, he helplessly holds out his arms. Don't question him, just come here.]

[He watches in silent incomprehension, not understanding even when he closes the door. What does it matter if anyone hears him talk of this? None of it is new, none of it is shocking, so why--?

And then he spreads his arms, and it hits him. His expression doesn't fall so much as crack, his eyes going wide. He's sitting, and thank god for that, because he feels as though his knees might be buckling; there's a roaring in his ears, he feels stupid and numb, his thoughts nothing more than hazy static, and he doesn't know when it happens or how but suddenly he's there, burying his face against Huaisang's neck, fingers gripping the front of his robes.

The tears come hot and fast, but he doesn't make a single noise. Just stands there, shuddering violently, greedily taking anything Huaisang is willing to offer.]

[In retrospect, he should have expected the tears. But Jiang Cheng has never cried in front of him before, so it still startles him for a moment now, even as he wraps his arms tight around his trembling shoulders. It's going to take mere seconds for his neck and the collar of his robes to be a mess, wet and gross, but he'll care about that later. Now it's just Jiang Cheng, and Huaisang tugs him as gently as he can, guiding them both to sink to the floor right here by the door.

So they can be a little comfortable while weeping, anyway. He holds Jiang Cheng tight, cheek pressed into his hair, and for a minute or so that's it. Just silence and contact and hopefully, some scrap of comfort.

When he thinks he can move without shattering Jiang Cheng completely he shifts to loosen his grip and rub his hand in a gentle motion over his back. It's cool, snot on his robes, that's what he's here for...]

I... I'm not going anywhere.

[His eyes squeeze shut at that whisper, but he seems to have calmed down enough he doesn't burst into tears again. Instead: he rests his head against his shoulder and stares at nothing, more grateful than he can say for the rhythmic motion of Huaisang's hand. It's soothing, but more than that, it's soft. It's kind. And that sets it distinctly apart from when his mother had hugged him, that first and last desperate thing. The comparison could shatter him again if he let it; instead, he tightens his grip on Huaisang's robes and tries to keep his breathing from sounding too uneven.]

I know.

[He swallows thickly, tries to clear his throat. He doesn't dare look up just yet, he knows his eyes are red and, alas, there is indeed a lot of snot, but at least he can talk.]

I can't . . . I don't know how to make it stop. I keep killing them and it doesn't stop.

[Cool, did not ever expect the first time he ever got to hold Jiang Cheng to be like this, with bonus sadness about murder not being enough. Really living the dream here. Huaisang just focuses on holding him, being that steady presence he's actually good at. Hmm...]

I don't know, either. Jiang-xiong... this won't be you forever.

[Maybe for a while yet, but surely not forever!]

As- as long as I'm here, you can always come to me.

[Oh yes it will he almost snaps, because that's what it feels like. Instead: he keeps his mouth shut, and as a reward he gets to hear that second statement.

It's good he's already shattered. It means that those words fall on him like feathers instead of crashing into him, ruining him, because god: what a statement that is.]

That's too tempting.

[Because it is, really: the thought of getting to run back into Huaisang's arms, to the smell of tea and the silence of an empty room, to the two of them contained and separate from all the chaos outside . . . god, he'd always be running back.]

[This isn't the time to laugh, and in Huaisang's defense, the noise that he makes is more of an airy huff than anything substantial. Tempting? Please. He's serious about this, but thinking about anything beyond that is...

Well, never mind. He moves his hand up to stroke Jiang Cheng's hair, glad at the very least that he's calming down.]

I mean it. I thought... I might not see you again. This is the best I can do.

[He can't kill all the Wens or change the past or anything, but tea is good, yes? Yes.]

[He doesn't take offense, fortunately. He's too exhausted. It's why he doesn't fluster as Huaisang gently combs his hair, a movement straight out of one of his more saccharine fantasies.]

I never worried about you.

[Wait, fuck--]

I just mean . . . I knew you were safe. Whatever else happened, I didn't have to wonder if I'd find your corpse somewhere, or hear thirdhand that you'd been tortured and killed.

[Hmm, he didn't want to think about getting tortured and killed, but that can't be helped, huh. He hums, trying not to think about it, despite the conversation, pressing his face into Jiang Cheng's hair in a way that is most definitely for Jiang Cheng's sake, confirming that he's very much here.

It's him who would be the one learning about Jiang Cheng's death thirdhand anyway, if it came to that—]

I'll be fine in Qinghe. And when this is over I'll be waiting to see you again. [Is that a thing he can do? Just casually and totally platonically declare that he'll wait for him? It's wartime, the rules are different--] So you'll have to make it!

[If nothing else, that hits him: faintly, but there's a flutter deep in his chest, something that he'd thought long since burnt to ashes. It's equal parts surprised and pleased, despite the fact he knows Huaisang means it platonically.]

I don't plan on getting killed, you know.

[Just as a general reminder. That's a pretty bold statement for a man who willingly gave himself over to the Wens a few months back, but eh, we don't talk about that. And it's wartime, the rules are certainly different, so he smirks faintly and adds:]

What, are you going to give me a token to remember you by?

[Oh, he's feeling calm enough now to tease, is he? That's so great. Huaisang scoffs, and you know what? Maybe he will! Maybe he will right now! He reaches up to tug one of the pins out of his hair, letting the clump of braids fall loose.

He wiggles the pin at Jiang Cheng. Here, punk.]

Here— I'll give you a token to remember not to do anything stupid with your life.

[Revenge quest is fine, but don't be dumb about it, alright? Thanks. Take the pin.]

[He'd expected a quiet parry to that bit of teasing, not for him to actually give him a token. He blinks once, rubs at the remnants of tears in his eyes, takes the . . . it's not a token. It's a pin. A reminder. It means something, sure, and it's not insignificant; he won't ruin the gesture by hoping for more.

Carefully, he takes it. It's pretty, because of course it is, but not frivolously so. More ornate than he usually wears, but nothing he'd be embarrassed to be seen in. His thumb rubs over the head of it, pressing down just so he can feel the way the carvings press against his skin.]

When did this turn into a lecture? Stop scolding me and help me put it in.

I'm just making sure... Hold still.

[Can he get this pin into Jiang Cheng's hair at this angle, without making him sit up? Probably. It's so much more important to feel the weight of him than to make this pin look good right now, so compromises have to be made. Huaisang takes the pin right back, nudging Jiang Cheng's fingers out of the way, studiously not thinking about that while he's comforting a dear friend in his time of need...

No. Huaisang has manners. He'll help put the pin in, not perfectly, but it's the sentiment that counts.]

...There. [mmmm...] If my brother asks, pretend you don't know.

He'll notice?

[Like, he won't say a damn thing, because Nie Mingjue is terrifying enough without courting disaster, but also: it's a pin. Surely he won't notice such a thing; it's not as if Jiang Cheng is a girl, after all. There's no chance of scandal.

He's just a friend. A friend wearing Nie colors, hair a little messed up, wearing a token from Nie Mingjue's beloved baby brother. Hm.]

He'll notice.

[Reluctantly, he sits up, scrubbing at his face once more. Ah . . . there's a lot of snot and tears left on Huaisang's robes, unfortunate. It's embarrassing, but whatever. He has a lot of robes, he'll be fine.

(And what's really remarkable about this little exchange is that while he's been busy focusing on tokens and hands and the steadiness of Huaisang's body against his, he hasn't once thought about the war. It's only a few minutes, if that, but god, it's a relief).]

You're going to get your pin back after your brother murders me over a misunderstanding.

[Thanks for totally grossing up his robes, babe... Now it's Huaisang who needs a bath, albeit less urgently. Ew, though.]

He won't murder you.

[This he says as he reaches up without thinking to put Jiang Cheng's hair into a little more order, now that he can see it better. That pin is staying where it is and Mingjue will just have to deal with it! It isn't as if Huaisang needs to attend war meetings, but maybe he'll sit in this time to shrug every time his brother gives him a significant look.

That will work, definitely.]

I want you to keep it. If you're going to give it back, do it after the war is over.

[Won't he? Won't he, though? Okay, maybe not, but on the other hand: he's terrifying when he's angry.

But hm, he settles beneath Huaisang's hands, going still as he fusses with his hair. It's a pleasing feeling, an intimacy he hasn't had since-- well, ever. He could spend quite a bit of time letting Huaisang play with his hair, honestly; Jiang Cheng tips his head forward, acquiescing.]

All right.

[He'll keep it. He'll wear it, and his men will notice, and no one will say a damn thing because they won't dare.

Nie Mingjue absolutely notices. He notices the second Jiang Cheng walks into the war room and bows, and the rest of the meeting goes . . . hm, well, it goes. He isn't overly nasty to Jiang Cheng, but there's a bark to his words each time he turns to address him, his gaze sharp and unimpressed. But that's the worst of it, and whether that's due to Huaisang's presence or something else is debatable.

He spends three more days there, recovering and planning-- and when it's time to go, he doesn't commit to some grand gesture. He doesn't even say goodbye, not properly. Just awkwardly, abruptly, a sharp nod as he rides out. And if he's very aware of the way his hair is decorated as he rides out, well. Of course he is.

The war goes on and on, and he learns how to cope. Brokenly, raggedly, but he learns. Wei Wuxian reappears, and with him the fight finally seems winnable. His older brother is shattered, and that's terrifying, but he's so consumed with bloodlust he doesn't care. He's torturing and slaughtering Wens; what does it matter that he's got a distant look in his eye and the way he smiles is so different from his bright grins? It doesn't matter. War is hell, and they're all broken.

Another battle. They're nearing the end, and everyone can sense it: the fights are bloodier, soldiers on both sides more desperate to finish off the other side just so they can go home. Jiang Cheng gets his share of scars and wounds, as do they all-- including the impossible. Somehow, somehow, Nie Mingjue gets hurt. Not just hurt; he's nearly killed, stabbed again and again, blood pooling on the ground beneath him, dripping from his mouth, down from his eyes . . . he doesn't die, but it's close. He hasn't even woken up when the next battle looms, and so of course he needs a replacement--

Surely they'll choose Lan Xichen, he thinks. Surely he's the natural choice. But everyone's wary of power struggles, no one wants to give an inch just in case, and so leadership of the Nie clan falls to--]

What the hell are you doing here!

[Whoops, that's definitely not how you're supposed to greet the second son and temporary leader of a powerful clan, but here they are. Is he wearing the pin Huaisang gave him? Of course he is.]

[The war goes on, but for a few days at the Unclean Realm, it's almost like things aren't quite so bad. Huaisang likes having Jiang Cheng around, and he doesn't so much avoid Mingjue as pretend he has no idea what his brother is talking about when he inevitably brings himself to ask, and yes, there are war plans being made, but it's easily the most pleasant couple days he's had in a good while. Watching Jiang Cheng leave is, hmm, awkward, but not unpleasantly so; he rides out with Huaisang's hairpin and Huaisang will take that as something of a promise that he'll have to come back someday.

Everything else is just news. Sitting at home in Qinghe and hearing about things secondhand, like before— Huaisang isn't content, but he's fine.

And then his brother gets hurt. Nie Mingjue, the strongest and bravest and toughest warrior Huaisang has ever known, no bias, is brought back to Qinghe bloodied and broken and doesn't wake up. Alive, certainly— breathing, yes. But somewhere in the days afterwards that Huaisang spends at his brother's bedside, a mess swinging wildly from weeping and begging him to wake up to sitting there in silence, Mingjue's limp hand clasped in both his own— something in Huaisang bends.

He can't lose his brother. It's up to his core now, the Nie doctors tell him, his body is stable but he needs to wake up on his own.

The thing in Huaisang creaks and snaps, and a little brother with barely any cultivation power shouldn't be riding out into battle but they tried to kill his brother and so there is Huaisang, fist clenched around the hilt of a saber he is, honestly, not comfortable with, but the Nie sabers are big and mean enough to get the job done with less skill that he might need with an ordinary sword, surely. He's terrified and angry and not built for battle, but here he is—

Ah, and there's Jiang Cheng, luckily still alive and oh, scolding him.]

My brother is hurt, [he says, and turns his gaze away before just looking at Jiang Cheng softens him too much to be here at all.] So I came instead.

Yes, but--

[But he still shouldn't be here, not where it's unsafe. His brother is hurt, he should be with him, not standing in front of Jiang Cheng in robes that don't suit him and a sword instead of a fan. He's not good at cultivation, he never has been, he's never cared to be, and that's fine and good in general, but not here. Not now.

I'm not going anywhere, he'd promised. He'd promised, and what is that in face of a war, but still, still, he shouldn't be here.]

There's got to be someone else. Some-- some lieutenant or cousin.

[That's so insulting, and not even in the way Jiang Cheng usually is, but he doesn't care. He smells like blood, the taste of it coats his throat and his tongue, and he can still hear the howls of pain from the wounded come back, and Huaisang cannot be here.]

You know why that isn't good enough!

[He almost shouts it, and he can't be angry at Jiang Cheng for saying that (he's right, Huaisang never wanted to be out here but he never wanted his brother to come home full of holes, either), but god, he doesn't need this right now. Right here, where they are. He's held together by adrenaline and fury that the Wens would harm his brother and he will collapse at any moment if he stops to think about anything but getting back home to Mingjue's side.

So he looks at Jiang Cheng with earnest pleading in his eyes, please don't do this at the most inopportune of times. He physically cannot take much more.

So the battle is going great. Storming off to wave his saber around is beyond him at the moment, so instead:]

You need to focus, Jiang-xiong. Let's talk later.

Edited (woops) 2020-04-01 03:14 (UTC)

[Later, he'll regret this. He always does. He pushes and pushes, his tongue sharpened by the best intentions and the clumsiest means of showing them. He'll think about this conversation and wonder why he hadn't backed off, because he can read the exhaustion in Huaisang's eyes.]

I am focused. Do you know what I'm thinking of? That you failed your first year.

[He steps towards him, his face pale.]

That you hate the saber. That you're an artist, and you wield a brush far better than any kind of weapon. That you have no place in this war, in any war!

My brother could die! It doesn't matter how good I am with a stupid saber!

[Were they not in the middle of the battlefield he would throw the thing to the ground to prove a point, which is this: Mingjue is down for the count and so the mantle falls to him, the second son. That's it! It may not be what suits him but he's already here and he can't decide to go home.

Leaving aside the part of him that's starting to understand on a visceral level the depth of Jiang Cheng's hate for the Wens; they were monsters before, and now? Well, now. But that dark feeling doesn't suddenly make him good at any of this, and here they are.]

You can't stay here and scold me in the middle of battle, so go!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject