( the crescents of hua cheng's memories are anachronistic burns and hurts that xie lian briefly feels and then doesn't. the blades of his apologies are similar, except that they hook into the present while touching the past. yet for strange moments, xie lian finds himself rooted to the ground. it is a bizarre sort of punishment, or so it feels, though he knows not from what greater power or less. sometimes it is one's own perceived shortcomings and losses that create such a thing though, and he knows this intimately. it hurts to know that it can also be said for hua cheng, and xie lian does not accept that just because he is his familiar that he should have had to suffer so. to him, hua cheng, xiao hua, san lang. one being. he has done nothing wrong. or rather, the wrongs in xie lian's life were committed by his own self, and he has been saved enough times to believe the injuries that come to him whether in statues of misfortune or false deaths to preserve a young witch's morals and hopes, are deserved.
something in hua cheng's words feels like shattering. everything in hua cheng feels hurt, dangerous, and close to beyond control.
xie lian moves to kneel in front of him, gently reaching for his hands, making both of them bloody in the process. he draws them close to him, against his own chest where his heart beats, and then he leans his forehead against hua cheng's, if he lets him. )
San Lang. ( a beat. ) Xiao Hua. ( a beat. ) Hua Cheng. ( a heartbeat. )
Thank you for believing in me.
( then he lifts his head so he can press a kiss between hua cheng's eyes, and there he stays, his voice no longer carrying words but a quiet, soothing sound: he no longer remembers the words, that is. but the song's blood and bones remain: a lullaby that was also the very first spell he learned perhaps far too young and without theory or practice to fully understand. yet the spell had changed its shape for xie lian, rewoven itself from the tapered spellcasting fingers of his mother incandescent with stardust and then muted and colorless with sacrifice, into the peach blossom shroud of her son. the core of xie lian's magic, as well as his qi, has always all ways been his heart. and though there have been times when he might have changed its make, the reality is: he didn't.
even if it were at the last second, the once flower crowned enchanter adored by all, then a rumored white storm that cried and broke the sun in turns, would regret unleashing a curse on innocents. to this day, xie lian regrets. and sometimes, he mourns. that dream that wasn't a dream who saved him and all the people he would have irreversibly harmed otherwise.
when he breathes, it's incomprehensibly deep and slow: please be okay.
not a command, not a bewitching.
the request of a one who was once like a god, uttered in wordless song to his most devoted believer.
please.
won't you stay?
not that, after hua cheng's words, he thinks he would go by choice. but the scars upon hua cheng's soul are unmistakable and fearsome. a lesser individual would have ceased to be a long, long time ago. parts of him feel like a child. parts of him feel like a ghost. parts of him feel like xie lian will never be able to apologize enough or love him enough.
but he would like to try.
xie lian's song drapes across hua cheng's body as much as his soul in heartlines of gold and coral red and innocent white, a glittering of intertwine that adores him, that make a feeling like a home.
and home means many things.
not the least of which: i would like to keep you safe, if you would let me.
at the edges of xie lian's consciousness, the fugue state of his spellcasting and his song, he reaches to touch the tendrils of hua cheng's magic, a deeply intimate thing that has him gasping softly, his head falling to hua cheng's shoulder. he hopes he hasn't trespassed, but he wants to connect with him, to let him know: you have never failed me.
as his voice trails off, xie lian releases hua cheng's hands as gently as if they were glass, only to slip his arms around his middle. )
no subject
something in hua cheng's words feels like shattering. everything in hua cheng feels hurt, dangerous, and close to beyond control.
xie lian moves to kneel in front of him, gently reaching for his hands, making both of them bloody in the process. he draws them close to him, against his own chest where his heart beats, and then he leans his forehead against hua cheng's, if he lets him. )
San Lang. ( a beat. ) Xiao Hua. ( a beat. ) Hua Cheng. ( a heartbeat. )
Thank you for believing in me.
( then he lifts his head so he can press a kiss between hua cheng's eyes, and there he stays, his voice no longer carrying words but a quiet, soothing sound: he no longer remembers the words, that is. but the song's blood and bones remain: a lullaby that was also the very first spell he learned perhaps far too young and without theory or practice to fully understand. yet the spell had changed its shape for xie lian, rewoven itself from the tapered spellcasting fingers of his mother incandescent with stardust and then muted and colorless with sacrifice, into the peach blossom shroud of her son. the core of xie lian's magic, as well as his qi, has always all ways been his heart. and though there have been times when he might have changed its make, the reality is: he didn't.
even if it were at the last second, the once flower crowned enchanter adored by all, then a rumored white storm that cried and broke the sun in turns, would regret unleashing a curse on innocents. to this day, xie lian regrets. and sometimes, he mourns. that dream that wasn't a dream who saved him and all the people he would have irreversibly harmed otherwise.
when he breathes, it's incomprehensibly deep and slow: please be okay.
not a command, not a bewitching.
the request of a one who was once like a god, uttered in wordless song to his most devoted believer.
please.
won't you stay?
not that, after hua cheng's words, he thinks he would go by choice. but the scars upon hua cheng's soul are unmistakable and fearsome. a lesser individual would have ceased to be a long, long time ago. parts of him feel like a child. parts of him feel like a ghost. parts of him feel like xie lian will never be able to apologize enough or love him enough.
but he would like to try.
xie lian's song drapes across hua cheng's body as much as his soul in heartlines of gold and coral red and innocent white, a glittering of intertwine that adores him, that make a feeling like a home.
and home means many things.
not the least of which: i would like to keep you safe, if you would let me.
at the edges of xie lian's consciousness, the fugue state of his spellcasting and his song, he reaches to touch the tendrils of hua cheng's magic, a deeply intimate thing that has him gasping softly, his head falling to hua cheng's shoulder. he hopes he hasn't trespassed, but he wants to connect with him, to let him know: you have never failed me.
as his voice trails off, xie lian releases hua cheng's hands as gently as if they were glass, only to slip his arms around his middle. )