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It's good to be back home. The mountains are quiet, so unlike the hustle and bustle of Shanghai. If he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine that he's back in time and everything is the way it should be.
Then he opens his eyes and looks at Yi-long.
Guilt is a living, breathing thing. It coils around his insides, squeezing tightly every time he watches Yi-long walk, limping because of him.
Yi-long doesn't blame him. Er-kui knows that; it's clear as day in every word, every touch, every little gesture. They even share a bed again, the way they'd always done before Shanghai.
That's a problem, in more ways than one.
The nightmares are the biggest problem, because they affect Yi-long too. There is no risk that he'll speak or scream during his sleep, of course, but he still gives himself away. Many are the times he has jolted awake, sitting panting and shaking while being painfully aware of Yi-long's gaze.
Often he reaches out to grip Er-kui's hand when he lies down again. It's like an anchor, gently holding on and lulling him back to sleep.
Tonight, however, Yi-long doesn't reach out for him at first. His touch only comes after he has turned on the light.
"I haven't wanted to ask," Yi-long says quietly, "but I think it's time I do."
Er-kui knows what he's going to ask, feels his whole body going tense, steeling itself for the dreaded question.
"What do you dream, night after night, brother?"
Ah. There it is. Almost out of their own volition, Er-kui's fingers move to Yi-long's side. 'You,' he writes over Yi-long's ribs.
Yi-long shiver beneath his touch, and as soon as he's finished writing that sad frown appears again. The same one he gets every time Er-kui tries to touch the scar on his forehead.
"Me?" he asks. "What am I doing?"
Er-kui snatches his hand away as if burned. He doesn't want to answer that — doesn't think he can, even. It's bad enough that it's constantly on his mind, Yi-long doesn't need to be reminded of it as well.
It's his greatest regret, so shameful and horrible that some days it feels like he'll be crushed under the sheer weight of it. He doesn't want to bring it into the light.
"Er-kui? Please answer me. In your dreams, what am I doing to you? You know I would never hurt you, don't you?"
And that's all wrong; Yi-long has misunderstood. He's looking at Er-kui with such profound sadness that it'd break Er-kui's heart if he'd still been in possession of one.
Slowly, Yi-long releases his hold on Er-kui and moves back as far as he can on the narrow bed, as if he believes that his touch is unwelcome, or perhaps even feared.
He couldn't be more wrong.
Pulse racing, Er-kui reaches out to beckon him closer again.
There is hesitation in the movement, but Yi-long comes. "Will you tell me?" he asks, begs. "What is it I do?"
Er-kui cannot refrain from answering any longer. His hand is trembling as he traces the character on Yi-long's skin: 'Die.'
The frown deepens. "I die? How?" He hesitates for a moment, before quietly adding, "During our fight?"
Fight isn't the right word. When he'd said he would never hurt Er-kui, he'd meant it. Even back then he hadn't fought in earnest. He'd just defended himself — barely, at that.
"That's it, isn't it?" Yi-long says when no answer comes. "You dream that you kill me."
He doesn't deserve the tenderness that shines in Yi-long's eyes, doesn't deserve the gentle touch as he reaches out to brush away an errant tear from Er-kui's face.
"I dream, too. Sometimes while I'm awake." Yi-long's voice is a mere whisper, breaking on the last word.
Er-kui moves his fingers against Yi-long's side, silently prompting him to continue.
He does, after a while. "I dream that I'm too late. That I walk into your hospital room to find you lying there, among shards of broken glass and your own blood."
Yi-long moves forward, burying his face against Er-kui's chest. His breath comes in hard, short bursts, like he's struggling not to cry. Er-kui can do nothing but hold on, arms tight around Yi-long's back.
'I'm sorry,' he writes on the warm skin once Yi-long's breathing has evened out.
"Don't be," Yi-long replies. He doesn't move away, merely shifts his head a bit so that his lips brush against Er-kui's throat with every word. "It doesn't matter that I can't perform anymore. Because, except for silent roles, neither can you. I don't want to do it without you, Er-kui."
'Me neither.' Those performances without Yi-long had been hell. All the joy had been gone, and he'd felt like the world's lowest impostor as he stood there on the stage, pretending to be a hero when he was as far from one as could be. And after the performances, the nights he'd spent drinking in a pathetic attempt to forget... It had all been hell.
"I do regret one thing, though. The money," Yi-long says, chuckling softly. "I truly was looking forward to buying you everything you wanted."
Er-kui smiles at the memory.
"But we'll be okay," Yi-long continues, "even if we're no longer rich. And if there's something you want, I'll find a way to get it for you."
Shaking his head, Er-kui starts to write again. 'I only want you.'
He realizes what he's let slip the moment Yi-long stiffens against him. And there it is, his other problem. His feelings, long denied, but always there. Probably since the very first moment, when Yi-long had taken one look at him and then saved his life by declaring he wanted a little brother.
He can't defend the love he feels — the love he has always felt — not even if he'd still had his voice. But neither is he about to deny it. Thus he meets Yi-long's gaze when he pulls back.
His eyes are searching, silently asking. It's not entirely what Er-kui had expected, and perhaps that's what makes him take the chance. He extends his hand, very slowly, giving Yi-long plenty of opportunity to avoid it.
He remains still, and Er-kui's fingers carefully brush away the hair covering the scar. He's allowed to touch it for the first time, and it feels like forgiveness.
Yi-long leans into the contact, mouth pressing against his palm in a soft kiss.
"This is what you want?"
Er-kui nods.
There is wonder in Yi-long's eyes, as if he can't quite believe it. "I have wanted this for longer than I can remember," he says.
As they close the final distance between them Er-kui is struck by the notion that this might be a dream, cruelly giving him his every desire before taking it all away as he wakes.
But Yi-long's lips are warm and solid against his, as are the hands that roam over his body.
It's real. This is real. And maybe he still has a heart, after all, because it's suddenly beating so hard and rapidly that it hurts. He returns the kiss desperately, trying to put all his lost words into it.
"Shh, I know," Yi-long whispers. He bends his head to bestow a gentle kiss against Er-kui's throat.
Swallowing, he nods. 'Together,' he writes over Yi-long's heart. He trusts his brother to understand, but he still wants to say this, at least.
Yi-long's lips curve into a sheepish smile. "One more time, please? I was a bit... distracted."
Er-kui grins, and does as asked.
"Oh," Yi-long says once he's done, smile turning soft. "Yes, together. You and me, forever."
It's all he wants.