Chapter Text
‘’Emergency, emergency!” Dan Heng was rummaging through the archive collection when March bangs violently into his room, almost sending her body tumbling over. She steadies herself. Her face is wild—with excitement or bewilderment—he cannot tell. He is contemplating on whether to throw her a look of disdain or a clearly annoyed sigh, before he sees the conductor popping from behind March; their face looking as if they have just seen the dead.
Oh. His mind comes quickly to a conclusion. It’s that serious, then.
Outside, Himeko is drinking her cup of coffee; her figure poised, yet her fingers are slightly tremulous where they touch the flawless porcelain surface. Welt is sinking, slowly but surely, into the sofa; his eyes half-shut, half-opened, as if exhausted. Upon noticing Dan Heng from his periphery, he reclines further into the soft material, almost like wishing to become it. The trailblazer stands straightly near the omni-synthesizer, their posture weirdly strained, focusing their entire existence onto it. As if wildly fascinated.
“So everyone’s finally here.” A sweet voice echoes from the far side of the parlor room; the beguiling tone striking a familiar feeling within Dan Heng. There, stood a hologram of Kafka and Silver Wolf. Kafka folds her black umbrella calmly, collected and with a smile that never wilts.
Dan Heng feels a shiver when their gaze collides—though ephemeral—yet daunting, like the forecast of imminent danger.
Kafka clasps her hands together, amused at the collective silence of the Astral Express. “We’ve ran into a weird situation”, she pauses dramatically, “that demands the Express’ help.” Himeko immediately puts her teacup down; the object clinking softly yet uncomfortably loud. She sends a glance—maybe curious, maybe menacing—towards the pair of uninvited guests. Pom-Pom hides themself behind March, sneaking a peek every now and then, only to retreat at the sight of an arrogant Kafka.
“We ran into a Stellaron recently, and while its capture did not prove to be a difficulty’’, she smiles cheerily for a moment, before dropping the pitch of her voice, “it unfortunately caused certain ‘distortion’ to reality.”
Welt pushes his glasses further up his nose—Dan Heng knows that he is getting serious—then stands up to directly face Kafka. “And what does this ‘distortion’ have to do with us?”
“Oh, allow me to finish.” A chuckle escapes her lips, dissipating into the tense atmosphere that has been descending down the parlor room. “Bladie has been turned back to his old self—when he still resided on Xianzhou Luofu—and is now in quite a bit of confusion.”
Silver Wolf pops her pink bubblegum, finally diverting her attention to the matter at hand, “As Stellaron Hunters who are always on the move, we do not have time to look after him.” Kafka shifts her eyes to Dan Heng, and he sweats internally at this unwanted attention—it is as if she has caught his weakness and is now mocking him for it. Kafka continues, “Since he now has his old appearance, bringing him to the Luofu may not be the smartest choice.” She laughs, as if discussing something as frivolous as the weather or what’s to eat for dinner.
“So you have decided to leave him in our care.” The atmosphere becomes palpably denser at Himeko’s conclusion—even March has dropped the smile that always appears on her lips. Himeko folds her hands, equally interested and perplexed at the situation. Her gaze is sharp when she directs it to the Stellaron Hunters. “What made you think we won’t turn him in to, say, the IPC?”
The smile on Kafka’s face is growing perceptibly wider, and Dan Heng’s stomach twists violently. Her hologram starts walking—each step deliberate, a predator teasing her prey. She stops before Danheng, and he can tell he is not gonna enjoy what comes out of her mouth—
“Because of a certain passenger.’’
Her finger is pointing towards Dan Heng, full of nonchalant accusation.
“From what I’ve seen, both of you have shared a long history together—’’, she puts a finger on her lips, shushing any retaliation that is about to spill over Dan Heng’s lips. The whole express is stiff, momentarily frozen in time.
“—it makes sense to leave old Bladie to his past companion, no?’’
But then she leans dangerously close to Dan Heng; so close he feels as if her non-existent breathe is grazing his ears, and murmur, ‘’And I think you can use this opportunity to resolve some past problems, too.’’
He knows she reserves those words only for his ears, before she leans back out, awaiting the answer (that she probably has already known, by now).
A silence that trails after Kafka’s words, everyone tensing.
Himeko finally breaks out of the silence, sighing exasperatedly, and everyone holds their own breathe for her verdict.
“Fine.” Is all she says.
_
A blocky, colourful portal appears inside the parlor room, before a man slowly steps out. Kafka waves her hands half-heartedly, turning her back against the people present as the holograms perish. The man moves tentatively—partly alert, partly entranced by the unfamiliarity. Silver strands cascading down his broad back; Dan Heng coughing at the figure that frequently plagues his nightmares. Yet, as the man looks around—and locks gaze with Dan Heng—he notices how soft his expression is, as if uncorrupted. Like the blossoming of a white lily, silky soft petals enchanting their admirers.
Pain jars through his heart, as easy as metal tearing its way through soft, vulnerable flesh.
Crimson collides against turquoise; and Dan Heng feels something that has been slumbering away in his heart jolts awake, clawing madly at the sight.
Past life. He mutters to himself. It’s all in the past.
March, seemingly noticing the chaos stirring within Dan Heng, saunters to the stranger, and holds out a hand.
“I’m March,” she smiles—sweet as always, never failing to coax people out of their shells, “Welcome to the Astral Express!” The stranger breaks their eye contact—Dan Heng thanks March a thousand times internally—and turns to the bubbly girl.
A hand reached out to meet hers, before shaking very gently. “Yingxing.” A name slips out of his tongue, falling like a rock to a surface of still water inside Dan Heng.
Dan Heng slips away from all the introduction that has just been kick-started by March, trailing away surreptitiously - the way he has always been, all these years.
_
The door to the archive is opened—without any knocking—for the second time of the day.
Dan Heng has already changed into his pyjamas for the night, and is smoothing out the crinkly mattress. Yet, the silence is disrupted by the presence of Yingxing. Dan Heng’s brain starts to run haywire. The Trailblazer throws him a secret smirk—so helpful, Dan Heng complains— and nudges Yingxing into the room.
‘’Take care of him,’’ they say, tone simultaneously impasse and teasing, before shutting the door in Dan Heng’s face.
So-
What do you do when the your ex-lover from your past life is standing in front of you, and said ex is also the maniac that has only one goal of hunting you down?
Dan Heng fumbles with his blanket; fingers smudging against the smooth fabric for comfort, while averting his head away from the other’s prying gaze.
Soft rustling of clothes. Yingxing has moved closer to him, looking down at the bed that can barefly fit two grown men. Then, he takes out his shoes; his outer layer discarded carelessly onto the floor. They look at each other—fleetingly, because awkwardness is always hot to the touch—before avoiding eye contact again. Yingxing slips himself into the blanket, tossing around before settling in.
Dan Heng is dumbstruck. None of the information in the archive has ever taught him how to deal with this—and it’s unlikely that such information will be added to the data bank anytime soon. So he chooses to ignore all the conflicts that stir inside him, crashing against his ribcage. Violent as tumultous waves.
Running away as always, huh.
He flicks the light switch. ‘’Good night,’’ he mumbles hesitantly, before also tucking himself in for the night.
However, he is careful to neither face the other man, nor allow even the slightest physical contacts between their flesh. The engulfing dark of the night offers a strange comfort of not having to see Yingxing’s face, and Dan Heng’s troubled heart revels in every bit of it.
‘’You remind me of someone.’’ None of them dares to move. Dan Heng wants to pretend he has never heard that—
—but the following words knock the air out of his lungs: ‘’I don’t know what happened. But I hope he is fine.’’
Tender. He doesn’t know tenderness can destroy you the same way a spear can: sharp and piercing, pain diffusing rapidly throughout his veins. Something inside him wants to scream, wants to draw answers out of the other’s mouth, the way Cloud-Piercer draws blood. Do you care for him? Would you forgive him? Yet Dan Heng pushes the cacophonous voices away with what’s left of his strength. He shifts his body further away from Yingxing—little by little—as if not wanting to alert the other man. Even if Yingxing notices it, he surely doesn’t say anything, anymore. The conversation hangs untouched between them, heavy as a boulder, bitter as medicine.
_
That night, Dan Heng dreams. A night not tainted by another nightmare.
Dan Heng thinks he is on the Xianzhou Luofu; he must be.
But he doesn’t remember the place being like this—an infinite stretch of water, its surface rippling every now and then as a maple leave falls silently down, distorting his reflection in the clear water. In this space, the only discernible object—beside the abundance of water—is a sole maple tree, standing resolutely yet lonely. The air is cool, and comfortable, yet somehow still reminds Dan Heng of some impending doom, of trauma, he thinks. But for now, the atmosphere brings him a sort of bittersweet nostalgia that soothes his turmoil at the absurdity of this place. He paces around—slowly, warily—and watches his reflection breaks as he moves, then gaining clarity again as the water surface stills. Sometimes, wisps of wind will blow by the isolated space, ruffling his locks of hair.
A disruption. Soft muffling within the air.
Dan Heng immediately turns around - his hands gripping the space where his spear is, a natural reflex. He doesn’t find it, his mind confused at his carelessness. But the muffling continues on and on and on, and if he doesn’t pay much attention, the sound will probably be drowned by the collision of leaves against water and the rustling of wind. He starts following the direction of the sound; and as he walks he sees how the maple leaves are parted as if drawing a path. Beckoning him to follow it. So he walks, and walks, and walks, for what seems like an eternity. Dan Heng thinks about how perhaps he has gone mad, and contemplating defeat until—
—until he sees a man, silver hair, pressed closely against another figure. The pair seems to not notice his intruding presence. Dan Heng moves closer and closer—he knows it’s sort of inappropriate and goes against etiquette—but he is curious. A feeling that cannot be sated by seeing, without knowing.
And he regrets it.
Because he sees another man, and it’s none other than his past life. Yingxing leans down, enveloping the person between his arms, before pressing a soft and chaste kiss. A chuckle— pure as bells ringing—reverberates within the serene space. Yet the sound is immediately silenced by another kiss, then another, and another; until their lips are locked in an intimate tango, a familiar rhythm. Lovers dancing around each other, before converging their paths and falling into each other’s embrace, without fail.
Dan Heng stands—still stupefied—and watches. He watches the pair of lovers, basking hungrily in the comfort the other brings, admist the rain of maple leaves that descends continuously down. Slowly. He watches, despite knowing frost will probably encase his blood and ice throbbing in his brain later. Watch, knowing the sight will strike him like a malady, leaving his mind haunted for days to come.
But now, they are kissing, and the scenery is beautiful. Poetic, even. And Dan Heng, watches.
When he wakes up, the spot next to him is already empty. He presses his fingers against the lukewarm spot, savouring the heat still emanating it. His fingers are seeking—for what, he doesn’t know.
_
Dan Heng wakes up later than usual today.
The express is mostly empty—Himeko, March, and the Trailblazer have already left to visit Jarilo-VI. March said yesterday that she wanted to take some photos of the newly-open museum in Belobog, while the Trailblazer seems to have been invited to manage said museum.
And then Himeko joined along because why are only you youngsters getting to trailblaze? Even though Dan Heng knows she said it probably just for teasing, Himeko must be longing for an adventure out there after taking the backseat for the past few adventures.
So, when Dan Heng enters the parlor room, he only sees Yingxing staring at the phonograph, as Pom-Pom sweeps the floor diligently.
‘’Your breakfast is on the table.’’ The conductor spares him a quick glance, before bouncing off to water their favourite plant. Yingxing remains silent, not even turning his head to look at Dan Heng.
Dan Heng doesn’t know whether he should feel grateful or annoyed for this lack of attention.
(But then, to feel annoyed is to admit that he does have something for the other man. Something that feels like hot and warm inside his stomach, flowing down his throat like honey. Dan Heng doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to expose himself to such a direct admission.
He doesn’t want to be vulnerable.)
Suddenly, he doesn’t feel hungry anymore—the food on the table looks as appetite as rocks. Music flows softly from the phonograph, a track from the Luofu that the Trailblazer had brought back. Yingxing sways—almost imperceptibly—to the ringing notes, and Dan Heng sneaks ocassional, furtive glances at him. But after a while, sensing that the other male is not likely to look at him anytime soon, Dan Heng has started to full on stare at the swaying figure. He traces the intricate golden details that embellished his clothes, then eyes moving upwards to trace the width of his shoulders, and the white bun that is neatly done. The music seems to have successfully lured Dan Heng into a state of trance (must be, must definitely be) that nothing registers in his brain when Yingxing starts to return his blatant eye contact.
Something in his mind snaps loudly. Shit.
The other male raises an eyebrow, as if asking him to explain himself. Dan Heng can feel all the thoughts in his mind colliding and exploding, before another wave of unclear shouting rushes in.
Nothing comes out of his mouth. He doesn’t dare to break the intense eye contact between them.
‘’You’re not eating,’’ Yingxing folds his hands together, his eyes motioning at the untouched plate. Even though his tone is cool and calm, Dan Heng feels as if the man is worried at his lack of appetite.
His inside feel so mushy and warm Dan Heng really wants to faint like a helpless maiden, right now.
However, he still panics when Yingxing walks towards him; his hands curling into fists where they once splayed open on his lap—he thinks its a habit he has developed after countless pursuing attempts from Blade.
But he looks up to see the gentle eyes. Like the blossoming of a white lily, silky soft petals enchanting their admirers, and a voice—somewhere in the abyss of his body—whispers soothingly that he is safe, will be safe in this man’s presence. Warmth flooding his every cell, running like water stream underneath his skin.
He is safe. He is safe.
Yingxing sits down opposite him, “Is the food not up to your taste?’’
Dan Heng doesn’t dare to meet his gaze this time, because he has a premonition that he will faint for real if he does this.
The man doesn’t seem to be stopped by Dan Heng’s reticence. Instead, he reaches his hand out, placing his palm against Dan Heng’s forehead—and his mind now fully explodes. Words that are about to be spoken freezes heavily in his mouth, his body contemplating whether he should enjoy the touch or land a violent blow on the other’s face right now.
‘’Are you sick?’’ It’s like Yingxing is attempting to coax something out of him, and for a moment Dan Heng thinks that Yingxing really cares for him.
But the image of a man with haunting eyes pops into his mind, and the giddiness that has just started spreading across his ribcage immediately dies down.
Yingxing opens his mouth, wanting to say more—but their one-sided conversation is disrupted by the ringing of Dan Heng’s phone. He quickly excuses himself out of the parlor room, suddenly urgent to check March’s messages.
_
‘’Himeko!’’ March stretches her hand out to fetch her phone from the smiling lady, before scrolling frantically through the messages on the glowing screen. ‘’You didn’t enter me into any scamming group, right?’’
‘’Nope,’’ Himeko answers, her smile still tugging hard at the corner of her lips. She appears to be very satisfied and entertained, despite the accusing and wronged look March is directing towards her.
‘’Dan Heng will appreciate it.’’ March’s expression turns into that of a confused one.
_
Dan Heng is running. The spaceship is being invaded, again.
In front of him, everything is drenched in a striking shade of red as the alarm blares stridently. He can hear the chaotic thumping of shoes against the cold floor, reverberating throughout the space. Yet, despite his continuous running, he fails to reach an exit—the path seemingly to stretch itself for every step he takes.
“Dan Heng?’’ Yingxing rubs his bleary eyes, his voice croaky in the archive room. Beside him, Dan Heng has curled himself together, as if fearing something will hurt him this very instance. His breathing is erratic; huffs of breath escaping his body difficultly, as if he has been punched in the chest, as if he is in extreme pain.
Suddenly, a booming noise hits Dan Heng’s ears—the sound dealing a brunt blow to his senses, and he collapses helplessly onto the floor. As his hand reaches up to touch the shell of his ears, he feels something wet smearing onto the fingers. He is bleeding, and danger is drawing close; murderous intent clouding the atmosphere, emanating from behind him. The air condenses in his lung as the seconds tick by, forcing painful cough out of his throat. The coldness in the atmosphere graces his skin sharply like the edge of a blade. He is bleeding. He tries to get up, but his muscles seem to tear at the smallest movement. Danger is drawing close—it is imminent, he’s going to die, he’s going to be kil-
‘’Dan Heng? Is everything ok?’’ Yingxing snaps himself out of his drowsiness when Dan Heng starts thrashing violently, as breathless screams are choked out of his throat. His limbs are flailing frantically around, like a drowning person trying to get a hold onto a lifesaver, his nails accidentally scratching Yingxing’s cheeks. Yingxing ignores it, throwing his hands over Dan Heng’s body to pull him closer; so close he could feel Dan Heng’s searing breath cutting against his skin.
Dan Heng wants to scream, want to empty the fear out of his guts. But he seems to have lost total control over his body—his arms and legs striked with lethargy, his five senses slowly fading away.
He is going to die he is going to die he is going to die—
Dan Heng thrashes even harder when Yingxing hugs him, as if he is refusing Yingxing’s touches. But Yingxing doesn’t care. He maneuvers Dan Heng’s head into the crook of his neck, pressing tender kisses onto his hair.
Then, the scenery around him suddenly still—like a paused video. All the noises stop assaulting his ears. Dan Heng looks up, to find the details slowly disappearing, while something pulls him slowly away. Away from his nightmare. Dan Heng closes his eyes, resigning himself to the fate that awaits him ahead. And when he opens his eyes—
—Dan Heng finds himself caged between a pair of steady arms, as soft lips brush against the strands of his hair.
The man seems to notice how the thrashing has completely stopped. But he doesn’t let go; their limbs still tangled together, intimately.
Deep inside, his rationale tells him to let go of the man—your nightmare has ended and that’s it—but something like hunger drives him to indulge in this new-found warmth, its presence pushing his rationality away. The hunger demands and then it takes, without even a hint of hesitation. Unconsciously, he presses himself even closer against Yingxing’s chest, seeking out the rhythmic beating of a living heart. The sound consoling the twisting fear that still runs inside his heart like a beautiful lullaby.
Yingxing’s palm rests on the curve of his spine, firm and protective, like warding off any danger that dares to come close. ‘’It’s ok now,’’ he murmurs into Dan Heng’s soft hair, his words spoken with conviction, as if making a promise. As if swearing that as long as Dan Heng is with him, he will not be harmed.
Dan Heng usually snaps out of his nightmare to find an empty room, and memories that are foreign to his body. The thoughts that immediately gush into his brain brings him great unease, yet he has always managed to push through the difficult night.
He has never woken up to be faced with gentle consolation, to see someone handling his repressed feelings so delicately. As if fearing he will break into a million pieces.
So Dan Heng cries. Hot tears streaming out of the corner of his eyes, while muffled sobs spill out of his lips. He cries the way water flows—slow, but finally free. His tears might have wetted Yingxing’s clothes. But the man doesn’t scold him, doesn’t appear to mind. Instead, he hugs Dan Heng even tighter, offering peaceful warmth while he empties his heart out. Pushing away a burden that he has been carrying alone, for years.
At one point, Dan Heng’s sob quietens down and is lulled into sleep, again. He doesn’t extricate himself from Yingxing’s touch, because the hunger demands and then it takes, without any hesitation.
He doesn’t dream for the rest of the night, instead basking in the comfort that the man has generously provided for him.
The darkness wraps over their cuddled body like a soft blanket.
_
March is throwing an incredulous look at the door of the parlor room.
‘’Dan Heng is late again?’’ she cocks her head to one side, trying to fathom the situation. ‘’That’s so unlike him…’’
Next to her, Himeko is tasting a new coffee brew she got her hands on in Belobog; the gentle aroma permeating the space. Welt looks at her expectantly, as if knowing she has an explanation.
‘’Where is Yingxing?’’ the trailblazer looks up in the middle of savouring their breakfast, glancing around to find the white-haired man.
‘’I suppose this won’t be the last time.’’ She tips the cup elegantly; the taste spreading on her lips. Her blooming smile obfuscated from the others, as music reverberates through the room.