Luo Binghe (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
protagonisthalo) wrote2024-05-27 03:24 pm
protagonisthalo) wrote2024-05-27 03:24 pm
[interlude] deep dream
cw: death & grieving
Luo Binghe brings Shen Yuan to the bathing room near the back of the mansion, where they went together after the attack of the undead. There are bathing facilities closer to his room, but he favors this one. It has the oils Shen Yuan picked out for him then, so Luo Binghe can smell exactly like Shen Yuan likes.
He takes a long time washing them both. The steam of the bath starts to melt the icy numbness within him, awakening feelings that he flinches away from. He could not even say what he's feeling except that there is so much of it, a physical mass of dread and terror that makes his skin feel too small for his body. His heart pounds senselessly, as though trying to make up for Shen Yuan's missing pulse.
Some people say the dead look like they're asleep, but Shen Yuan looks dead. His end was so violent, leaving him pale with blood loss, dark shadows under his eyes. Every time Luo Binghe looks at his still face it jabs him like a knife, so he focuses on the details instead, meticulously washing the blood out of Shen Yuan's hair and under his nails with trembling hands.
He dresses Shen Yuan in the clothes he wears when he's most comfortable, his Naruto shirt and sweatpants, and then brings him back to his room. Luo Binghe's room, where they spend most nights, although Shen Yuan still keeps some of his things in the bedroom that was once his alone. He lays Shen Yuan gently on the bed and then crawls in next to him, pressing his face to Shen Yuan's shoulder with a shudder to take in the comforting smell of him.
Nina told Luo Binghe once that she could not hear the voices of the dead in this place. It is a closed world; no one has ever been here but them. Which likely means that Shen Yuan's soul is just as bound to the mansion as it always was. If the people here are severed from their own gods, then Shen Yuan cannot move to the next world, and if no one is born here, he cannot be reincarnated. So if his soul is caught in this luxurious trap, there is every reason to believe Luo Binghe can return it to his body. If there is any way to do so, Luo Binghe will find it.
But until then, his body must be perfectly preserved. For once, Luo Binghe is inclined to thank the heavens for the circumstances of his existence. A body without a living soul does not hold qi well; it's doubtful that anyone else alive would have enough of it to pour into lifeless meridians and stave off decay. But Luo Binghe, with his cursed halfling heritage, does.
He brushes damp hair from Shen Yuan's forehead, enduring the sick clench of his stomach. This is the vessel of his most beloved person, but without Shen Yuan's soul, it is hard not to see these cold, unmoving features as those of Shen Qingqiu. The haircut and the clothing speak of Shen Yuan, but Luo Binghe needs to see his soft eyes, his sweet smile. It is insulting to have nothing left of him but a body whose previous owner soaked Luo Binghe's life in pain and violence until he knew nothing else. Luo Binghe's birth made him an abomination unto the gods, but Shen Qingqiu made him a monster. It hurts to see him again in Shen Yuan's face, as though the man is mocking Luo Binghe's loss.
He turns Shen Yuan on his side so he can press them closer and begins to transfer qi to him, easing any stiffness that had begun to set in. It matters not what history Luo Binghe has with this face. All that matters is getting Shen Yuan back. Luo Binghe presses his nose to the back of Shen Yuan's neck and squeezes his eyes shut, his throat aching. He can never cry when he's hurt; he lost the habit years ago at the end of Shen Qingqiu's whip. But without it there's nothing to do with the pain burrowing its way into him. It takes up so much space inside him, seeping into the spaces between his ribs and filling his mouth with a bitter tang.
Luo Binghe was only a child when he lost his mother, but the pain of it has never dulled. Missing Shen Yuan has his mind turning toward her, as though one grief has opened the gate to the other. He wants Shen Yuan to hold him, but for the first time in years, he lets himself wish she were here as well. If only he could retreat into her arms, small and manageable again, his hurts soothed with a few kind words and a firm "be good, Binghe." He didn't know himself then; he still thought he could grow up to be happy.
Luo Binghe has never been good, but his strength is persistence. He is relentless, and nothing he's suffered, no matter how brutal, has ever touched that. He won't give up on Shen Yuan. The library here is expansive, and there are yet magic users from worlds Luo Binghe has learned nothing of. And even if those sources fail him, new people arrive here regularly. There's no sign the Mansion intends to release them any time soon, and Luo Binghe, as a Heavenly Demon, barely ages. If it takes him a hundred years, he will find a way to restore Shen Yuan. So all he has to do to get through this is endure, and enduring suffering is a specialty.
He presses a kiss to Shen Yuan's shoulder, making him a silent promise. Whatever it takes.
--
The next few days Luo Binghe spends in the library, feverishly looking for information on any method of resurrection. He barely needs to sleep, and now he foregoes it entirely. All day he spends researching, and all night he lies awake passing qi to Shen Yuan, keeping his body in perfect condition.
Apart from looking into how to restore Shen Yuan's soul, he is also investigating what happened in the murky gap in his memory. At the first opportunity, he returns to the room where he awoke to fetch Xin Mo. The sword burns him the first time he touches it, as if he were not its wielder, which confirms that it must have turned on him. But it's still hungry, snappish, unsatisfied, which means one of Luo Binghe's theories cannot be right. Shen Yuan should not have died of that wound. Luo Binghe had thought perhaps he tried to sate Xin Mo, channeling its qi into himself, until he was weak enough to die of blood loss like a common mortal. But Xin Mo's qi is still a licking flame contained within a circle of gunpowder, a hair's breadth away from blazing destruction. Luo Binghe wraps it in cloth and seals it with as many warding talismans as he knows.
So he drew Xin Mo, and intended to use it. Either he meant to defend Shen Yuan from the gun, or they were fighting someone, and Xin Mo's attack took the memory from him. He doubts there is anyone in the mansion who would intentionally attack Shen Yuan, but if he himself was the target, he can think of many suspects. It has him paranoid, always on the verge of panic, jumping at shadows in the library.
After a few days, he thinks to look in Shen Yuan's room for clues. It's messy—Luo Binghe regularly tidies it, but he is ashamed to realize he hasn't thought to since Shen Yuan—since what happened. As he is organizing Shen Yuan's things, a piece of paper falls out of a book and flutters to the ground. Luo Binghe picks it up, his heart constricting violently when he sees Shen Yuan's familiar handwriting.
Luo Binghe reads it five times, and then has to push it away from him so it will not be ruined as he shoves his face in his hands and breaks down in tears.
Luo Binghe brings Shen Yuan to the bathing room near the back of the mansion, where they went together after the attack of the undead. There are bathing facilities closer to his room, but he favors this one. It has the oils Shen Yuan picked out for him then, so Luo Binghe can smell exactly like Shen Yuan likes.
He takes a long time washing them both. The steam of the bath starts to melt the icy numbness within him, awakening feelings that he flinches away from. He could not even say what he's feeling except that there is so much of it, a physical mass of dread and terror that makes his skin feel too small for his body. His heart pounds senselessly, as though trying to make up for Shen Yuan's missing pulse.
Some people say the dead look like they're asleep, but Shen Yuan looks dead. His end was so violent, leaving him pale with blood loss, dark shadows under his eyes. Every time Luo Binghe looks at his still face it jabs him like a knife, so he focuses on the details instead, meticulously washing the blood out of Shen Yuan's hair and under his nails with trembling hands.
He dresses Shen Yuan in the clothes he wears when he's most comfortable, his Naruto shirt and sweatpants, and then brings him back to his room. Luo Binghe's room, where they spend most nights, although Shen Yuan still keeps some of his things in the bedroom that was once his alone. He lays Shen Yuan gently on the bed and then crawls in next to him, pressing his face to Shen Yuan's shoulder with a shudder to take in the comforting smell of him.
Nina told Luo Binghe once that she could not hear the voices of the dead in this place. It is a closed world; no one has ever been here but them. Which likely means that Shen Yuan's soul is just as bound to the mansion as it always was. If the people here are severed from their own gods, then Shen Yuan cannot move to the next world, and if no one is born here, he cannot be reincarnated. So if his soul is caught in this luxurious trap, there is every reason to believe Luo Binghe can return it to his body. If there is any way to do so, Luo Binghe will find it.
But until then, his body must be perfectly preserved. For once, Luo Binghe is inclined to thank the heavens for the circumstances of his existence. A body without a living soul does not hold qi well; it's doubtful that anyone else alive would have enough of it to pour into lifeless meridians and stave off decay. But Luo Binghe, with his cursed halfling heritage, does.
He brushes damp hair from Shen Yuan's forehead, enduring the sick clench of his stomach. This is the vessel of his most beloved person, but without Shen Yuan's soul, it is hard not to see these cold, unmoving features as those of Shen Qingqiu. The haircut and the clothing speak of Shen Yuan, but Luo Binghe needs to see his soft eyes, his sweet smile. It is insulting to have nothing left of him but a body whose previous owner soaked Luo Binghe's life in pain and violence until he knew nothing else. Luo Binghe's birth made him an abomination unto the gods, but Shen Qingqiu made him a monster. It hurts to see him again in Shen Yuan's face, as though the man is mocking Luo Binghe's loss.
He turns Shen Yuan on his side so he can press them closer and begins to transfer qi to him, easing any stiffness that had begun to set in. It matters not what history Luo Binghe has with this face. All that matters is getting Shen Yuan back. Luo Binghe presses his nose to the back of Shen Yuan's neck and squeezes his eyes shut, his throat aching. He can never cry when he's hurt; he lost the habit years ago at the end of Shen Qingqiu's whip. But without it there's nothing to do with the pain burrowing its way into him. It takes up so much space inside him, seeping into the spaces between his ribs and filling his mouth with a bitter tang.
Luo Binghe was only a child when he lost his mother, but the pain of it has never dulled. Missing Shen Yuan has his mind turning toward her, as though one grief has opened the gate to the other. He wants Shen Yuan to hold him, but for the first time in years, he lets himself wish she were here as well. If only he could retreat into her arms, small and manageable again, his hurts soothed with a few kind words and a firm "be good, Binghe." He didn't know himself then; he still thought he could grow up to be happy.
Luo Binghe has never been good, but his strength is persistence. He is relentless, and nothing he's suffered, no matter how brutal, has ever touched that. He won't give up on Shen Yuan. The library here is expansive, and there are yet magic users from worlds Luo Binghe has learned nothing of. And even if those sources fail him, new people arrive here regularly. There's no sign the Mansion intends to release them any time soon, and Luo Binghe, as a Heavenly Demon, barely ages. If it takes him a hundred years, he will find a way to restore Shen Yuan. So all he has to do to get through this is endure, and enduring suffering is a specialty.
He presses a kiss to Shen Yuan's shoulder, making him a silent promise. Whatever it takes.
--
The next few days Luo Binghe spends in the library, feverishly looking for information on any method of resurrection. He barely needs to sleep, and now he foregoes it entirely. All day he spends researching, and all night he lies awake passing qi to Shen Yuan, keeping his body in perfect condition.
Apart from looking into how to restore Shen Yuan's soul, he is also investigating what happened in the murky gap in his memory. At the first opportunity, he returns to the room where he awoke to fetch Xin Mo. The sword burns him the first time he touches it, as if he were not its wielder, which confirms that it must have turned on him. But it's still hungry, snappish, unsatisfied, which means one of Luo Binghe's theories cannot be right. Shen Yuan should not have died of that wound. Luo Binghe had thought perhaps he tried to sate Xin Mo, channeling its qi into himself, until he was weak enough to die of blood loss like a common mortal. But Xin Mo's qi is still a licking flame contained within a circle of gunpowder, a hair's breadth away from blazing destruction. Luo Binghe wraps it in cloth and seals it with as many warding talismans as he knows.
So he drew Xin Mo, and intended to use it. Either he meant to defend Shen Yuan from the gun, or they were fighting someone, and Xin Mo's attack took the memory from him. He doubts there is anyone in the mansion who would intentionally attack Shen Yuan, but if he himself was the target, he can think of many suspects. It has him paranoid, always on the verge of panic, jumping at shadows in the library.
After a few days, he thinks to look in Shen Yuan's room for clues. It's messy—Luo Binghe regularly tidies it, but he is ashamed to realize he hasn't thought to since Shen Yuan—since what happened. As he is organizing Shen Yuan's things, a piece of paper falls out of a book and flutters to the ground. Luo Binghe picks it up, his heart constricting violently when he sees Shen Yuan's familiar handwriting.
Dearest darlingdearest Binghe,You're so beautiful
I don't know how to start these things without feeling fake or shallow or something but I'm trying. I’m sorry I have to try hard, sometimes, to give you what you deserve, that it doesn't come easily to me like it does to you. That when I think about how Ilovelove you, there’s so much of it that it crowds me out and I can only think about the easy stuff: how beautiful you are, the way you look at me like I'm the only thing you ever want to look at. I used to think that was projection, because you're the only thing I want to look at. I could look at you forever, only look, and live off that. Or. I used to think I could. Now I think being only able to look and not touch might kill me.
I used to think a lot of stuff. I used to think, back when I would read about you, that I knew you better than anyone ever could. That alone in the world, in what at the time I thought was the only world, I was the person who knew you best, and there was nothing about you that I didn't understand. When I met you here, when you told me you loved me, I realized I didn't know you at all. I knew what had been done to you; I knew the ways you had been wronged; I knew the ways you had answered that wrong. I knew you the way you can know a song, but not the singer.
Thank you for letting me truly know you, for baring your glass heart to me and trusting me not to break it. Thank you for teaching my hands how to touch you, my heart how to hold you. It's by far the best thing I've ever done, and I can't wait to spend the rest of my life learning it over, and over, and over again.
Luo Binghe reads it five times, and then has to push it away from him so it will not be ruined as he shoves his face in his hands and breaks down in tears.