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It had been a day of long battles, HuaiSang had heard when he arrived at the camp. He could see the evidence, too. There were rows of bodies on the ground, men fatally claimed by the war. Soldiers were carried on stretchers towards the medic tent—some groaning in pain, some barely alive. The air was so thick with death and despair, it was almost hard to breath.
"There," HuaiSang said as he finished tying Mingjue's bandages. They were in MingJue's tent. After some length of obligatory yelling by MingJue—who was very clearly injured, yet somehow still had the energy to shout his displeasure at HuaiSang for coming to the battle camp—HuaiSang had finally managed to drag him back here to get his wound cleaned. HuaiSang just knew that if he had not been there, it would have been hours before MingJue had that wound looked after. The man would have made his rounds around the camp first, checking on his disciples, paying respect to the fallen, before even thinking of sitting down. Nie MingJue was a good leader, always making sure to take care of those under his command. But he was absolutely horrible at taking care of himself.
"Thank you," muttered MingJue. His eyes remained closed as he continued his meditation. He was breathing evenly, in and out. Realigning his qi, pacifying his mind.
HuaiSang remained seated behind his brother. His fingers carded through MingJue's hair, loosening his windswept braids. The Nies were famous for their elegant intricate braids that could last for days. But, HuaiSang supposed not even the Nie hair could last through months of endless combat against an army of undead puppets. He began to redo his brother's hair, his fingers weaving through the dark tresses in well-memorised motions. Movements and patterns MingJue had taught him back when they were children. Whenever little HuaiSang was agitated and needed to be distracted, or when he was sad and needed to be soothed, MingJue would take him somewhere secluded. And MingJue would braid HuaiSang's hair, or let HuaiSang braid his hair. It had become a routine, and continued even now when they were no longer children.
There was nothing but quiet for a while. For a short, illusory while, it felt just like another evening back in Qinghe. Calm. Familiar. Safe.
"Dage," said HuaiSang.
"Hm?"
"When are you coming home?"
"When this is over," said MingJue.
"When is this going to be over?" HuaiSang said, in that familiarly petulant tone. Except this time, it was tinged with real fear.
MingJue said nothing, and let the serene silence continue to envelop them.
It was just the two of them in the tent. It had always been just the two of them, ever since their parents died. Despite all the disciples and elders that surrounded them. Despite all the rules and duties thrust upon them, far too early in their young lives. Even after they both had grown up, and MingJue had taken the mantle of sect leadership. It had always been as if HuaiSang and MingJue lived in a bubble of their own world, occupied by just the two of them. Everything and everyone else existed outside it.
The thought of that changing, disappearing even, filled HuaiSang with heavy dread.
He wrapped his arms around MingJue's waist, and rested his head against his brother's back. This close, he could feel the heat radiating off MingJue's body. Its warmth was reassuring, its solidity grounding. And if HuaiSang closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that they were home and safe. Far from danger and everyone else. Back in their own little world.
MingJue's hand moved to cover HuaiSang's own, his thumb stroking gently. A quiet reassurance for his little brother.
"I don't want you to get hurt," whispered HuaiSang. He knew it was a stupid thing to say given the circumstances. His brother was a sect leader and, at the moment, a war general. What's more, he was Nie MingJue. Not a week ever went by without him getting stabbed, slashed, poisoned, or even, that one time, cursed. His older brother took physical injuries very lightly.
MingJue chuckled.
"Well, not too hurt, at least," HuaiSang said.
MingJue could not help the sigh of fondness that escaped his lips. Finally, he said, "I'll come home, HuaiSang. You know I always do."
Huaisang smiled against Mingjue's back. "I know."
He tightened his arms around MingJue. Yes, he knew. MingJue would come home to him. Always.