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Blade is barely a name—barely his own, barely belonging to anyone else.
It’s a name he clings to, a warning of his unwavering refusal to settle for anything more than that. Only a vessel of bones to be defined by the weight of his sword. Even through the cracks in his armor, there’s no light that should shine. A resolute rejection of the notion of being anything other than a mere means to an end.
Darkness has consumed him. A monstrous entity thrives relentlessly within him. His body is trapped in an incessant cycle of regeneration, with tendons persistently reconnecting, bridging, and clinging together. There have been moments when his limbs betray him, becoming unresponsive. As if they too have succumbed to the weight of his burden. His eyes, once filled with life, now burn with nothing but rage.
Cruelty has always been his constant companion, a sinister presence that has taken up residence within him. It whispers in his ear, urging him to embrace the darkness, to revel in the chaos that lies within. But the battle rages on, a never-ending war that consumes his very being. For he has never been hailed as a hero in his own hometown, nor has he ever been anything more than a stranger in a foreign land.
Abandonment, as they say, Blade sees it as a mere shift of blame. The chains that once safeguarded his destiny now bore traces of rust. With each swing of his blade, he tasted the metallic tang of crimson. Every plea for mercy brought forth the bitter taste of tears.
The tips of Blade's fingers have never trembled with fear, even haunted by the charade and the lurking anguish that always followed. It's a history of relentless suffering, a past filled with suffocation. Yet, calluses had formed over the scars left behind, a shield against the pain endured. With the walls that had crumbled, with the floors where his knees had given way.
And yet, as Blade’s will to live grows colder, he finds himself bleeding with an ironic warmth.
And yet again, in that one poignant moment, Blade contemplates the fragility of existence.
With the sight of Dan Heng's serene slumber serves as a stark reminder of life's ephemeral nature. His deep longing for the peace that seems to elude him resonates within his soul.
Existence is a concept that Blade hasn't had the opportunity to contemplate. There has been no necessity for it; he has no need for life. Perhaps it's the peace in this time that captivates him. Or maybe it’s the haunting memories from the previous night when he succumbs to the demands of his own thoughts. There's something that has shattered his mind, compelling Blade to ensure Dan Heng's safety.
Blade acknowledges the impossibility of joining Dan Heng in his peaceful repose. Unable to even brush against the strands of his hair, lest their skin inadvertently touch.
In Blade's tumultuous existence, memories have become a haunting reminder of the tragic outcomes that befall those who cross his path. The mere act of remembering seems to invoke a curse, casting a shadow of misfortune upon those he holds dear in his heart. It is as if the universe conspires against him, ensuring that every cherished memory is tainted by sorrow and despair.
But it’s not only the act of remembering that brings forth such calamity. The moment Blade acknowledges someone, a sinister transformation takes place. Trust is shattered, and loyalty crumbles like a fragile house of cards. The very essence of human connection becomes a treacherous game, where betrayal lurks in the shadows, waiting to strike with ruthless precision. And when Blade dares to hold another in his arms, a chilling premonition fills the air.
The touch that should bring solace and comfort instead becomes a harbinger of doom. Bodies tremble, sensing the impending tragedy that awaits them. It’s a cruel irony that the warmth of an embrace is swiftly replaced by the cold embrace of death, leaving behind only the echoes of sorrow and longing.
As opposed to touching, words have always been easy for Blade. In a world where emotions are often concealed, Blade has fearlessly bared his soul to Dan Heng. Countless times he has confessed his deepest desires, unafraid of the kind of vulnerability it entails. Months have passed since those heartfelt admissions, and yet, they both remain steadfast in their commitment to this —whatever they may be. There’s no trace of hesitation or discomfort in their connection, no crippling fear of rejection.
Blade's proximity to Dan Heng unveils a profound truth—that his very existence is a fragile facade, concealing the depths of his inner turmoil. His ribs, once perceived as a fortress, now stand as feeble fences, unable to contain the turmoil within. His bones, so easily plucked by grasping fingers, yearn greedily for a purpose beyond their current insignificance.
He takes a seat beside the limited space on the bed, right next to Dan Heng. Extending his index finger, he delicately positions it near Dan Heng's knuckles, gradually tracing it down to the bones of his wrist. The unique contours of his hands make it feel like a captivating journey, with every bump and curve holding its own story.
"You'll soon be the death of me," Dan Heng murmurs, his eyes still shut.
Blade blinks, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "You wish," he retorts.
At that moment, Dan Heng finally opens his eyes to find Blade, gazing down at him with tenderness. "You're not the type to watch anyone sleep.”
"And you're not just anyone,” Blade responds.
Dan Heng seems to study Blade’s face for a moment, staring up at him, even when he’s still lying on his side.
“Is there anything you wish to share with me?” Dan Heng inquires.
Blade lets out a small sigh. “Is there anything you want from me?”
Blade has the nerve to ask even if he possesses nothing that he can offer—rendering his hands useless and lacking dexterity.
His hands, once nimble, are now incapable of even holding someone close. His lack of understanding of what it means to go on has entangled thoughts within him. What does it truly mean to achieve victory or suffer defeat? What does it entail to be ensnared by the constraints of time and destiny, sinking deeper into the self-made quicksand? How does it feel to bear the weight of self-inflicted doom? When will Blade acknowledge that he can no longer endure the pain of running barefoot?
"There's... nothing," Dan Heng whispers, slowly rising from the bed, a faint smile gracing his lips.
However, Blade cannot help but notice how Dan Heng deliberately avoids making contact with Blade's hand resting on the sheets.
Blade's mind drifts back to the first time Dan Heng attempted to touch his hands. It was a moment etched in Blade's memory, a scalding hot coffee mishap that resulted in Blade pulling away forcefully, desperate to shield Dan Heng from the same pain. "Don't touch me," Blade declares, his words tinged with a mixture of fear and determination.
But Blade knows Dan Heng is not one to easily retreat.
Perhaps it is the scars of their shared history that have burrowed deep, infiltrating the very core of their relationship, where the wounds run the deepest and are seemingly irreparable. Or perhaps it is the impending encounter, looming like a dark cloud, causing them to tread carefully around each other, afraid to fully embrace their own darkness. Afraid to fully surrender to their own desires.
However, there is nothing remaining of Blade except for his one last burning desire: to confront Dan Heng head-on—whether it be on a leisurely stroll, a brisk run, or on an uncharted path he has never ventured before. Blade yearns to abandon the familiar, to forsake the monotonous routine, just to witness a desolate sunrise and embrace the possibility of a new beginning.
In a chilling conversation, Kafka once warned Blade that there is nothing more terrifying than exposing one's true self to another. It entails dismantling the carefully constructed facade, demolishing every barrier that shields the world from witnessing the ugliness and terror that lies within.
Blade discovers a suffocating truth when he realizes that his lips have always been devoid of warmth, and yet, he remains indifferent. Even when he bites his lip in an attempt to sever the connection, someone catches him intentionally, refusing to let go. It is at that moment, Kafka emphasizes, that Blade will comprehend the impossibility of burning that solitary bridge, even when he yearns to be consumed by the suffocating smoke. Because what once was, no longer exists in the realm of the present.
"Blade," Dan Heng addresses him, his voice resonating with a touch of amusement. "My eyes are up here."
At that moment, Blade becomes acutely aware that he has been unconsciously fixating on Dan Heng's lips. It's not a deliberate act, but rather a subconscious response.
"Apologies," Blade mutters, feeling a tinge of embarrassment.
Dan Heng responds with a gentle morning laugh, his demeanor exuding warmth. "You've been staring at my lips for quite some time."
Blade, overwhelmed by his own emotions, whispers, "I wish I could set myself on fire."
He doesn't fully comprehend why he vocalizes such a sentiment, but it encapsulates the intensity of his feelings. He yearns to burn, to experience a fire that surpasses his current state of being.
Dan Heng, unfazed by Blade's confession, replies, "How fortunate. I've been feeling a bit cold lately. A touch of warmth would be most welcome." His words convey a sense of familiarity as if he is accustomed to such peculiarities. It's as if he is willing to go to great lengths just to be present, to remain by Blade's side.
"How do you kiss someone, Blade?" Dan Heng suddenly inquires.
"Excuse me?" Blade responds, slightly taken aback.
Dan Heng nonchalantly shrugs before elaborating, "I mean, how do you do it? Do you open your mouth wide? Use your tongue? Do you tilt your head?"
Blade raises an eyebrow, trying to comprehend the question. "...How do you think I should do it?"
"By practicing," Dan Heng replies, his voice slightly hoarse. "You start with the hands." He raises his eyebrows, seeking permission to hold Blade's hands.
Without hesitation, Blade extends both of his hands toward Dan Heng. At that moment, he would offer anything, everything, if only Dan Heng would ask.
Dan Heng slowly lowers his head, placing one gentle and tender kiss on the back of Blade's two hands. Then, he turns them slowly, and just as how death doesn’t befit a king, Blade slowly builds a coffin of his own hands as his palms are planted with small kisses.
"And then, you go all the way up," Dan Heng mutters under his breath.
Blade witnesses Dan Heng's unwavering commitment to his words. He even instinctively wants to pull away when he feels the gentle touch of Dan Heng's lips on his wrists.
The tip of Dan Heng's nose grazes his skin, lingering a little longer than necessary. Blade feels as though his soul had been detached from his body, as if time had reversed and he was experiencing a reverse death.
The sensation of numbness creeps up his toes as Dan Heng leans in, his breath caressing Blade's neck, whispering, "I heard that when you seek heaven, you always ascend." These words resonate in Blade's ear and deep within his soul.
For the first time, he finds solace in his immortality, grateful that the sky hasn't yet fallen upon him. Dan Heng gently places a hand on Blade's forehead, compelling him to close his eyes.
It's as if Dan Heng's delicately etching his most cherished possession, his lips standing guard over Blade's closed eyes. Though no tears had fallen from Blade's eyes, the lingering essence of Dan Heng's kisses are already haunting him.
"Breathe," Dan Heng urges, and Blade complies, unaware of the laborious breaths he had been taking. “With your nose.”
With a sharp intake and a painful gasp, it feels as though Blade has finally glimpsed the day he had long awaited.
“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” Blade confesses, as Dan Heng's breath draws nearer and nearer.
“Perfect.” Blade couldn't explain how or why, but he knows that Dan Heng had smiled before continuing, "Open your mouth."
In the depths of his soul, Blade yearns for release, for a respite from the eternal torment that plagues him. But until that day comes, he cannot surrender to the darkness that threatens to consume him entirely.
Blade’s not simply just a means to an end, as he possesses a personal dwelling to retreat to.
For he can be more than just a name, more than a vessel of bones.