Luo Binghe (
protagonisthalo) wrote2023-10-20 05:41 pm
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[closed post - in an atmospherically gloomy room]
Luo Binghe is not proud of it, but he has spent the entire day rereading the first volume of Blood at Dusk. He's not hiding, but he has no desire to see anyone—except perhaps Nina, but when he ventured out to find her, he heard what sounded like a large number of people talking in one of the bars and turned away. He should have keyed the talisman the other way around, so he could call her. It's selfish, but he feels like being selfish.
So now he is curled up in one of the lounge areas and reading the book Shen Qingqiu gave back to him. It's the margin notes that are getting to him. Shen Qingqiu's casual writing is messier than the meticulous calligraphy on the invitation he sent, and alive with his personality—it grows sloppy when Shen Qingqiu finds something to be passionate about, then small and cramped, almost frantic as he tries to fit all his thoughts on the page. He may not be the true Shen Qingqiu, but he has a scholar's mind, criticizing certain scenes as "derivative", or the dialogue as "unrealistic." Luo Binghe treasures every note, every insight into Shen Qingqiu's mind—every opportunity to picture him hunched over the book, his cherished forehead creased with focus as he jotted down this litany of complaints.
And besides reading Shen Qingqiu's notes, Luo Binghe is reading the book. Despite what Shen Qingqiu derides as a "standard supernatural romance," Luo Binghe is not too hardened to be moved by the mishaps of Ted and Isabelle. Ted is drawn to Isabelle for reasons he cannot explain, and tries his best to care for her despite his melancholic nature. Despite the fact that he's never learned how to care for anyone. He sees, in Isabelle, salvation from his life of endless darkness, of the self-loathing nightmare of being a monster. He loves her, even though she is purely beautiful and good, and he lives in a world of blood and filth that has corrupted him utterly. And Isabelle loves him, but fears him. She is right to; what he wants from her is more than she can give, and he will never stop wanting it, no matter how much she tries to appease him. His monstrous nature would overwhelm her if she let it; it's best for her to run.
If one could die of heartbreak, Luo Binghe would have dropped dead right after his mother. So he knows he must simply continue enduring it. He runs his fingers over Shen Qingqiu's notes, reading every one five times over before moving on, wishing the book was longer.
So now he is curled up in one of the lounge areas and reading the book Shen Qingqiu gave back to him. It's the margin notes that are getting to him. Shen Qingqiu's casual writing is messier than the meticulous calligraphy on the invitation he sent, and alive with his personality—it grows sloppy when Shen Qingqiu finds something to be passionate about, then small and cramped, almost frantic as he tries to fit all his thoughts on the page. He may not be the true Shen Qingqiu, but he has a scholar's mind, criticizing certain scenes as "derivative", or the dialogue as "unrealistic." Luo Binghe treasures every note, every insight into Shen Qingqiu's mind—every opportunity to picture him hunched over the book, his cherished forehead creased with focus as he jotted down this litany of complaints.
And besides reading Shen Qingqiu's notes, Luo Binghe is reading the book. Despite what Shen Qingqiu derides as a "standard supernatural romance," Luo Binghe is not too hardened to be moved by the mishaps of Ted and Isabelle. Ted is drawn to Isabelle for reasons he cannot explain, and tries his best to care for her despite his melancholic nature. Despite the fact that he's never learned how to care for anyone. He sees, in Isabelle, salvation from his life of endless darkness, of the self-loathing nightmare of being a monster. He loves her, even though she is purely beautiful and good, and he lives in a world of blood and filth that has corrupted him utterly. And Isabelle loves him, but fears him. She is right to; what he wants from her is more than she can give, and he will never stop wanting it, no matter how much she tries to appease him. His monstrous nature would overwhelm her if she let it; it's best for her to run.
If one could die of heartbreak, Luo Binghe would have dropped dead right after his mother. So he knows he must simply continue enduring it. He runs his fingers over Shen Qingqiu's notes, reading every one five times over before moving on, wishing the book was longer.
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Shen Qingqiu looks as bad as Luo Binghe feels—his hair messy, face and neck flushed, and wearing clothes more similar to what Crowley or Magnus wears than what Luo Binghe is used to from Shen Qingqiu (although the illustrations decorating his shirt speak to Shen Qingqiu's complex taste in art). But he looks more beautiful than ever—more touchable, even, like Luo Binghe could tug on his hair and rub his face against those soft clothes. His breath hitches and restarts; he lets out a heavy exhale. It hurts even more to see him today than yesterday. After spending all day with Shen Qingqiu's sweet fussy voice in his head, Luo Binghe wants him even more.
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He hadn't given much credence to the theory that this could be the afterlife—he'd already lived a lot of an afterlife, in PIDW, and he hadn't died again before coming here—but that, in this moment, feels like an accurate description of hell.
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Abruptly, it crystallizes into anger. How dare Shen Qingqiu look so wretched. How dare he act like he was the one wronged. His face after Luo Binghe kissed him—it was fear in his eyes. As though Luo Binghe might hurt him. As though Luo Binghe loving him was the worst thing he could imagine.
He throws the book away from him in frustration, and puts his face in his hands. If Shen Qingqiu doesn't love him, why does he act so much like he does? If he hadn't been so sweet and eager to be around Luo Binghe—to see him smile—Luo Binghe would not have been bewitched by him in the first place. It is unfair, to destroy him, but only partway.
When he lifts his head again, Shen Qingqiu's fan is lying at the threshhold of the door. For some reason, seeing it there alone and abandoned guts him. He goes to retrieve it, and the book, and then stalks off to be miserable somewhere else.
¹It's magic acid water that disintegrates you instantly.
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"It's a cheap novel. I have a weakness for them... The library at Qing Jing Peak, where I grew up, had but one romantic novel, likely shelved there by mistake. I must have read it fifty times." He runs his finger down the cover, smiling without humor. "I suppose it's obvious why. A lonely child dreams of love—it doesn't take a tactician to understand."
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"No one minds it, in my world, but Shen Qingqiu... I don't know where he's from. He is—by his own admission—a displaced spirit, inhabiting a body that doesn't belong to him. Because I knew the real Shen Qingqiu, and he was entirely different from the man who lives here. Our Shen Qingqiu admitted to this, but shied away from telling me who he really is. So how these things are viewed in his home country, I know no better than you." He chews on his thumbnail anxiously, thinking hard. "You really think it's because I'm a man? I would never have thought—I would sooner have guessed it was because I'm a demon." He's afraid to take Sagramore at his word just yet.
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