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“I don’t want you to do that,” Mingjue says. Or tries to say as his mouth fills with blood.
“I’m sorry, I’m not taking requests at this time. ” Xichen tries to smile, but his expression tightens as Mingjue coughs. He waits for Mingjue to stop before wiping his face with the ragged end of his sleeve.
This is bad. This is so bad. Xichen sends another questing tendril of energy through Mingjue, but it’s devoured by whatever’s poisoning him before it can do any good. He settles for fishing a paperman from his qiankun and using the dregs of his energy to send it off, hopefully to A-Yao. He’ll find them and bring them home.
“...come back for me.”
“No, thank you,” Xichen says as he registers Mingjue’s attempt to send him out of danger. He settles Mingjue more comfortably in his lap so his hands are free to tear strips of fabric from his tunic and create a pad to staunch the bleeding wound in Mingjue’s side. The wound itself wasn’t bad, but the weapon carried by the rogue cultivator-- Xichen is grateful it’s not sending Mingjue into a qi deviation, but it also means Mingjue needs more help than he can provide.
Perhaps he should have sent the paperman to Wei Wuxian.
“You can’t… die…out here,” Mingjue rasps.
“I don’t intend to,” Xichen says tartly. “Nor do I intend to let you die out here. A-Yao and I have plans.”
Mingjue wheezes. “Course you do.” He tries to sit up, but the movement sends another wracking cough through him. “Don’t suppose I get a say?”
“No, not when you insist on trying to die at least once a month,” Xichen replies. He wipes the blood from Mingjue’s mouth again. “We had a meeting. Your brother was there. We all decided that you’re not allowed to die until you’re at least ninety, and even then, there’s paperwork to fill out, request forms in triplicate, notarized, and… Mingjue? Mingjue, love, are you--”
“‘M here,” he whispers. He tries to pat Xichen’s arm. “‘M here.”
“Good. Good. Because you are not allowed to leave me, Nie Mingjue.”
“Won’t…I won’t.”
Xichen bends down and presses a kiss to Mingjue’s bloodied lips. He wonders if he’ll ever get the taste of copper out of his mouth as he kisses him again, and once more for luck.
He…maybe he should play something. Liebing’s in his pouch. He could--
“Don’t let go.”
“I won’t, darling,” Xichen swears. He kisses Mingjue’s forehead.
It’s starting to get cold, but Xichen doesn’t dare move Mingjue to clear a space for a fire. He manages to retrieve an emergency blanket from his qiankun and settle it over them without jostling Mingjue too much, but it’s too quiet. Mingjue has lapsed into unconsciousness, but his breathing, while weak, is steady.
Dread claws at Xichen’s mind, but then, at the edge of the clearing, he sees it.
A golden Jin butterfly message.
Hold on, it says. We’re coming.