Work Text:
Yarrow flowers are symbolic for healing in slavic countries while representing divination in China. They are versatile in many soil types and are used for medicinal purposes.
Another rainstorm pelts at the windows and shingles of the manor, chilling the halls and quarters to a shiver. Many feel that it brings a hollow, dull atmosphere to an unpleasant feeling of wet socks and damp hair. The survivors obviously show their displeasure as they trudge in from their frustrating matches, exhausted and muddy at their knees. The rain is a nuisance, messy and void of color to an already bleak situation.
To Aesop Carl, he views this weather with more optimism. Despite how others believe at first sight, he tends to find enjoyment in the somber aspects of life. The rain, while a risk for bodies soiling, is enjoyable from behind windows with it’s repetitive falls to ground. He’s willing to overlook the headaches he gets when the cloud pressure builds up, he can’t resist how the cold drops are so electrifying and make him feel awake. It is much bearable than the sweaty, sticky feeling of the summer months to which he loathes.
Today, he is able to rest for a good portion of the day as he usually does. While he may not be called for matches often as others are, he takes in the advice of his respected deities and holds his head high in the meantime. He has been trying to study new types of flower arrangements from the ones he had done in the funeral home. The nostalgia of his artwork in death means the world to him, even if others fear it.
He feels himself becoming antsy after the thought of the guards crosses his mind and puts his book aside his notes. His eyes dart around the walls as he taps the desk with freezing fingers, opting to stay gloveless. A sharp coolness breezes by from the open window and he realizes why his hands are so cold, standing to reach the latch. With the window overlooking the garden, he catches sight of a figure unmoving in the middle of the storm.
Fan Wujiu.
Except he stands without the umbrella, letting the rain fall upon his body and clothes.
It is a very strange sight, let alone normal for Fan Wujiu. Aesop latches the window closed and hurries out of the room with urgency to catch him before he potentially leaves. After whipping around halls and stairs, he finds the door onto the grand patio of the garden. Fan Wujiu remains as is with his back facing the survivor.
Aesop huffs and walks out onto the open of the gravel where the guard still stands. The crunch of the small pebbles should surely alert him but he continues his stance as Aesop wanders closer. His shoulders are positioned with poise but his head tilts slightly down with a clear sign of something fogging his mind. Aesop can’t help but appreciate the way his sharp gaze slowly blinks, the drops of water running down his cheeks and nose, the strands of bangs sticking to his face. The pearl white hair grayed and sunken from its usual volume is a raw sight of Fan Wujiu, for that Aesop sees the vulnerability of such a hard stoned persona.
“Wujiu, the rain is soaking you up. Did… did something bring you here?
Fan Wujiu opens his mouth to say something but the words become lost, leaving silence. He furrows his eyebrows, pondering for a bit before he speaks up with a softer voice than he usually uses.
“It seems that I am trying once more to embrace the aspects of life that have caused relentless pain upon the ones I love.”
He turns to look at the patio, where Aesop follows. They spot the umbrella shielded and dry from the rain.
“.. But the guilt still lives in the core of my soul,” he whispers with somber.
The melancholic atmosphere begins to cloud Aesop’s mind, leaving him stuck on a response he could give for his deity. His button up is becoming drenched, sticking to his skin and exposing every mole, dent, and crease. He could care less at the moment for that he knows his deity sees all of it in a perfect aspect of him.
“How many instances have you taken to find peace with those that have hurt you?”
“I lost that number a long time ago. When we live as immortals, small events such as those are ones we eventually lose track of.”
Aesop sighs, closing his eyes before stepping to Fan Wujiu’s side and gently pressing his wet forehead against his left bicep. They stand stiffly, puffs of cold air periodically whirling around their faces.
“He doesn’t want you to feel that guilt..”
“I know.. That is why he’s so hard on himself..”
The rain starts to lighten, pitter-pattering around them. Fan Wujiu tilts his head to the sky with his eyes shut as if he's trying to embrace the last moments of rain.
“I have accepted that I am made of the showers that carried my fate. While my love stands in fear of it, I am bound to the drops hitting my skin until they gather into a raging river.”
He looks to Aesop, his eyes softening with comfort.
“And since you came along.. your outlook on these fearful things is odd yet inspiring. I feel that you possess a strength I don’t have.”
Aesop gazes up while running his hand along the small of his back with tenderness.
“Some can start to enjoy rainy days within a year, others take decades. For you, it may take a thousand more years but that is fine. We all heal differently and every small step should be an achievement,” he soothes with a hush in his voice.
The rain begins to sprinkle lightly, dusting their cold but flushed cheeks. Fan brings Aesop to his chest, resting his hand so lightly on his shoulder it feels like a graze.
Fan Wujiu’s mind wanders for a bit before smirking to himself. “The gray skies. They’ve recently been reminding him of you.”
“They are?”
“He wants to heal as much as I do.”
He takes Aesop’s hand in his, noticing their skin dewing from the mist in the air.
“You are very unassuming with your appearance to many, including us when we first met. Maybe witnessing so many of the worst souls in a millennia has toughened my perception of who is good and evil. You seem to be weaving yourself among that morality, taking so much pride in doing what is right despite your sins. It's truly... human. Perhaps that is what I admire:”
The last of the rain stops.
“You are mortal, capable of causing and receiving pain. Life will continue, with or without you. And it takes a strong mind to come to accept this.”
He buries his nose into his damp hair, resting his lips against his forehead. Aesop grasps his hand tighter but without aggressiveness. The clouds begin to part and reveal showers of sun turning the sky partially golden and the other side dark blue.
“We can’t be without rain. It brings life as often as death,” Aesop hums.
They let go from their embrace and walk towards the manor with little rush, Fan Wujiu retrieving the umbrella along the way. For once, the rainstorm felt euphoric against his skin and brought warmth he thought he’d never feel again.