Work Text:
The first snow of the year.
170 eyelashes.
A fire.
Dang Bo.
Cheong Myeong looked up at the sky dizzily and saw soft snowflakes falling softly from their homes in clouds. This was the first snow of the year. Was it already winter? Without taking his eyes off their place in the sky, he lay down on the ground and put his arms under his head. A dampness spread across his back right after it touched the soil beneath him, but he did not care enough to check if it was the tears of clouds or just some dirty blood. Dang Bo was also lying down next to him, in the same position, both in body and mind. He had 163 eyelashes. He also kept talking like there was no tomorrow.
"Hyung, listen to me, will you?” Dang Bo giggled, the setting sun paled beside the smile on his face. "I saw that funny looking monk again. You know. The one with a big pinky nose." He exclaimed with a lively laugh, as if the one who had just slaughtered an army of demons was not him.
"Guess what he told me?"
Then he started talking just like that. Each word came out of his mouth like a hymn that winds of winter would sing. They floated in the cold air, flowing tenderly down the bosom of the valley they lay on. Harmonized giggles occasionally accompanied his silly story. And every time that sound left Dang Bo’s mouth, Cheong Myeong felt an invisible force squeezing his stomach. The grip was intense, overwhelming enough to wreak havoc on his existence. It also made his throat feel parched for an unknown reason. Cheong Myeong blinked, then turned his head to his left. An eyelash from Dang Bo's rapidly fluttering eyes fell on his right cheek, then to the soil beneath his head. Dang Bo didn't realize it, was quite excited about whatever he was talking about, but it could not escape from the sharp eyes of Cheong Myeong.
Dark irises mapped the way of the lash down that pale face with a frown. Traces of blood left by the demons they had slain were still hanging on Dang Bo's flawless face, but how many lashes did he have? Was it 158? Cheong Myeong couldn't remember it. For a second, of course. Dang Bo’s warm laughter kissed the tops of distant mountains. It caressed the rivers beneath their feet and echoed off the walls of Cheong Myeong's chest. He dreamed of sinking up to his neck in the sea of that voice. Death looked at him with an enticing smile, and for a second, Cheong Myeong didn't want to resist.
He could no longer hear what the man in greens beside him was saying. Not that he had been listening from the beginning anyway. He was tired. A lot. He couldn't hear his heartbeats anymore, and his mind was long lost somewhere between Dang Bo's neck and the warm smile of a dawn that would never come. Cheong Myeong, a shame to admit it was, couldn’t remember the roads of his home anymore, but he was sure this man smelled something familiar.
Not noticing the deep gaze focused on him, Dang Bo was now babbling about someone Cheong Myeong was sure he had killed already. The story of that small –or was it big– pinky nosed monk drifted into nothingness as Dang Bo's attention shifted to more interesting stories. Like that man Cheong Myeong had killed, like the new poison he’s been working on, like a familiar flower petal he had found on the battlefield today. It belonged to a plum flower, said Dang Bo in a soft, low voice. Cheong Myeong’s right eye twitched as he heard that word. Cold tidal waves of emotions crashed over him abruptly, albeit lasting only three seconds. Then it was Dang Bo all over again.
Strong hands. Fingertips blackened with poison. Brown hair locks resting loosely on the forehead. Feet fidgeting with excitement. A beatific smile. Dang Bo. A facet so easy to love. Warm eyes, pupils, calm but brimming with genuine curiosity. How many eyelashes did he have? Cheong Myeong tried to remember but realized that a wrathful storm had already wiped away every room in his mind, making it impossible to find such tiny numbers in that empty field. But how many were there, seriously? The last time he counted, it was 167. Or 169. Something like that. "...doesn’t matter,'' Cheong Myeong thought as he drowsily blinked his eyes. "I can count again,'' He could do it again. Nothing could have been easier for him.
With Dang Bo's sweet chattering going on, there were also slight movements in his position. He just couldn't stay still. The face that had been facing the midnight blue sky for a while turned slightly to the right, facing the embodiment of a plum blossom tree next to him. His hands were occasionally brushing against Cheong Myeong's shoulder and nose. Unintentional were those small touches but, well, Cheong Myeong said to himself. It would never matter even if they were not, anyway.
Unlike other people, Dang Bo had never been shy about reaching for Cheong Myeong. Touching Cheong Myeong was so easy for Dang Bo. It came as naturally as breathing. The bloody and enormous back of the glorious child of Mount Hua, the back that frightened the others was the trunk of a wounded tree that Dang Bo leaned against to sleep. Pitch black, unruly hair would wave in the wind, carrying the eerie whisper of death to its enemies; but Dang Bo would run his fingers through the strands of that ugly hair, and it would feel like running them through a wave that once belonged to the rivers of his homeland. Everything about Cheong Myeong resembled something to Dang Bo. The feeling was sweet and calming. When Dang Bo touched Cheong Myeong, he would find traces of his own home beneath the blackened fingertips. That cold sensation of the old wall surrounding Dangga could be felt when he touched Cheong Myeong's shoulder blades.
In Dang Bo's eyes, this plum-scented boy, for all his fame and fortune, was too lonely to be familiar, but too familiar to be a stranger.
Dang Bo had asked him about this once. It was a summer night. The two of them were drinking and fooling around after cleaning the west of Xinjiang from those demonic bastards all day.
“Taoist Hyung,” Dang Bo was drunk. And the stars were at their brightest in his eyes. Cheong Myeong remembered how dazzling he had sounded that time. Pink blossoms from his distant homeland had landed on Dang Bo's cheekbones. “Hyung-nim is weird.” Dang Bo turned his face to the greatest hero of Kangho. And that hero thought about pressing the smooth tip of his tongue on his best friend’s cheekbones. Like how a cat drinks milk. Quickly and hungrily. He wondered if it would taste the same as the flowers in the forests of his hometown.
“Won't you ask why?”
Cheong Myeong lifted his eyes from his cheekbones and fixed them on his eyes. “Why?”
Dang Bo paused, then started giggling, “Because!”. He laughed, like there was something to laugh about. He laughed so much that the shaking of his body finally threw him off balance, already affected by the alcohol, and he fell backward onto his back. Cheong Myeong looked at him with a frown on his face. “What is this… Did you finally lose your mind?”
“Lost my mind… Lost my mind! Hahaha! I lost my mind, it’s true! Hyung-nim is so weird he made me lose my mind!”
“..What the…” Cheong Myeong mumbled, he felt something hot climbing up to his neck but couldn't detect its source or reason. He slid further down the wall he was leaning against, sat in a half-lying position, and watched his best friend with lazy eyes. “You are the weird one…”
A moment passed, the laughter faded into the darkness of the night, and silence filled the air. The stars above were watching the two men with undying tenderness. Dang Bo spoke again. “No, but… You are really...” He watched the dark sky silently for a minute before opening his mouth again. “Hyung-nim, why did you punch that man today?”
“Which man?” Cheong Myeong asked, even though he already knew who Dang Bo was talking about.
“That young man in the inn, you know who I am talking about.”
None of them said anything for a while. Why did I punch him? A warm wind blew, a couple of laughs came from afar.
Cheong Myeong punched that man because he attempted to put his hand on Cheong Myeong's shoulder. He punched that man because–
“I don't like when people touch me.” Cheong Myeong broke the silence with a quiet voice, but received no reply for a while. Just as he was about to think the other had already dozed off, Dang Bo laughed again.
“But you let your Cheongmun Sahyung touch you?”
“Well... of course I let him. Sahyung is Sahyung. He is not like the others.”
“Is that so?" Dang Bo blinked his eyes. "But... I really wonder.. What is the difference... I've never– I don't know... I feel the same with almost anyone.” Even me? Cheong Myeong swallowed the question that was begging to crawl out of his mouth.
“When others touch me, I feel expectations in their touch. but Sahyung touches me with…” Cheong Myeong felt embarrassed suddenly, and also had a lump in his throat. “With ugh… love… I guess?”
“Ohh…” Dang Bo made a nasal sound that Cheong Myeong couldn't understand its meaning and asked another question; “Then what about me? Do you feel uncomfortable when I touch you? Is it the same as being touched by others?”
“No.”
Cheong Myeong's sharp voice sliced the moon above them in half. His answer was clear and precise. “It is not the same.” I think I am drunk, he thought. “It could never…” Ever. Not the same, he tried to say. They would touch him with greed; to get something from him; some good luck, a wish, a request. Cheongmun Sahyung would touch him with love and sorrow, like a father and a great mentor. However, Dang Bo would touch him just to do so. An arm around his waist, cold fingers on his neck. Hands on his bloody face. He would touch him simply to touch him and do it while holding all the kindness in the world between his palms.
Dang Bo turned to him from where he was lying. There was a soft, gentle smile blooming on his beautiful face. Cheong Myeong's breath caught in his throat. Dang Bo looked at him with something, something sweet and warm. It was winter, but spring gleamed brightly in his eyes. The two men stared at each other without saying anything. Only then did Cheong Myeong realize that he had spoken all his thoughts out loud.
“Then I am glad,” said Dang Bo, not giving Cheong Myeong a chance to brush off what he said. He was still smiling and Cheong Myeong didn't know how to breathe anymore. "I am so glad…”
Cheong Myeong couldn't figure out what he was so glad about at the time. He still didn't know the reason nor was he planning to ask.
He was afraid.
There were times when Cheong Myeong asked himself desperately: Were these storms swirling only in his chest? Was there someone else like him out there, getting swept away by these hurricanes? Or was everything just a figment of his own fantasies?
He was so afraid. Of the reasons and the answers. Of losing everything, all over again.
"Hyung, where shall we go tomorrow?" Cheong Myeong's eyes drifted back to the eyes of the man lying next to him. Then to his lips. Dang Bo asked another question but went on talking to himself without waiting for an answer. Cheong Myeong seemed to hear Yunnan between his words. His eyes traveled from Dang Bo's lips to his chin, then down to his neck. His robe belt was unbuckled, and the front of his clothes was loose. His inner robe was already open enough to become one with the grass. Cheong Myeong could almost see Dang Bo's skin. A stream of heat from that crack warmed Cheong Myeong's face as his collarbones smiled at him from underneath the black inner robe.
Compared to earlier, Dang Bo was now completely turned to his right and his speech slowed down a little. Instead of looking into the eyes of the person facing him, he was looking at Cheong Myeong's white, dirty clothes. Sometimes his green eyes lingered on Cheong Myeong's hair, and sometimes they wandered off to the distance.
Cheong Myeong had also turned to his left now. Unlike Dang Bo, his reason was not the constant fidgeting. He just wanted to turn to him, to see him. A fire was rising from Dang Bo's collar. It smelled of an antidote that Cheong Myeong had forgotten the name of. He also caught a whiff of the aroma of an unpleasant poison mixed with Dang Bo's masculine scent. He inhaled deeply, his lungs filled with that smell. The invisible odor tore through its shell, took the shape of the frame of a mountain portrait, and nailed it to Cheong Myeong's chest. Blood spouted from the right lung. Bones fractured into pieces. He thought quietly, could it be 163?
"Hyung-nim, Hyung-nim," Dang Bo said with calm happiness in his voice. Cheong Myeong would never understand how his eyes could still shine so bright in the midst of this apocalypse. “Tell me, where do you want to go?” His feet kept swinging in a playful manner, nudging against Cheong Myeong's knees every now and then. "Anywhere..." Cheong Myeong paused, his eyes shifting somewhere behind Dang Bo's shoulder. He saw Heaven kissing Hell's forehead. It was extremely kind. It happened with utmost tenderness. His eyes returned to Dang Bo's face. How many lashes did he have? "..Doesn't matter..." He said eventually. Because it would never matter. He would count them again. Again and again.
"Doesn't matter, Doesn't matter… Yes… Hmm.. What about.." Ah. There he goes again. Cheong Myeong watched him with so much fondness. Where would they go when tomorrow came? Dang Bo asked, yet neither of them had an answer. Was there anywhere left to go? They were the last two forts in this hell that would not die or collapse. The fire. The heat. Dang Bo's chest hung open even more. A green leaf growing on his breastbone was tempting him to sin but Cheong Myeong couldn't see the apple. "Would you like to visit Mount Hua? We could take a look on the way.. If you want.." Cheong Myeong wanted to say yes, but he didn't have the strength to answer. Instead, he looked at Dang Bo's curved nose. The tip had turned faintly red from the cold. Cheong Myeong briefly pondered what would happen if that sharp curve were to press against his own neck. It would probably kill me, he mused. It would cut his carotid pulse. It would cut his breath, his neck, his soul, his mind. In seconds. It would instantly seize his consciousness, grip it tightly by its tail, catapult it to the seventh heaven, then plunge it back to the ground.
As Dang Bo's voice slowly began to mellow into a drowsy murmur, Cheong Myeong finally lifted his eyes from the curve he had fallen deep into and looked up at the two beautiful orbs above it. My satellites. Two vast universes. Those irises circled Cheong Myeong's face, losing their focus as sleep overtook the Prince of Dangga. A few silent moments later, Dang Bo murmured in a sleepy voice. "Hyung..." the flames in his chest climbed up his throat, its smoke was hitting Cheong Myeong's face with every breath he exhaled. “My hyung..” Or had this fire been inside Dang Bo all along?
"...You didn't tell me where to go..." That sleepy whining made Cheong Myeong laugh. A light chuckle, yet powerful enough to remove all the grief and tension from the face of his one and only friend. For a second. Cheong Myeong moved a little closer to the man dozing in front of him. He pressed his forehead against that chest and wished those flames would burn him from every path of his brain to the tips of his toes. Dang Bo snuggled him more. So close to touch, so close to kiss. Cheong Myeong closed his trembling eyes and took a deep breath. Home. Mount Hua. Dang Bo smelled like everything Cheong Myeong wanted from this world. He wanted to sink into the deep pit of his neck, put his nose in the area between the bottom of his throat and his collarbones. He wondered if Dang Bo would die if he pressed the not very keen bridge of his own nose onto his Adam's apple. Taking a bite of it... Would he get burned?
Probably, he thought while listening to the flow of steady breaths above him. The fire had already reached Dang Bo's mouth after all, his tongue would turn into ashes even at the slightest contact. That was obvious, though not something Cheong Myeong cared about. He would still walk through that fire. He would still bite those flames, still lose himself in the blazing waves. Days would come and go, the earth would crumble beneath their aching feet, and Cheong Myeong would still find time to count the eyelashes of the only man who made him whole.
Amidst his sleep, Dang Bo mumbled some words. "Okay…" was one of them. "...We can go there too, hmm.." Then Cheong Myeong felt something sharp rubbing against his scalp. A soft breeze passed through his hairlines. He realized it was Dang Bo's sweet breath coming through his nose. He almost screamed at the man, yet the word 'stop' didn't have enough courage to leave his mouth. Stop. He should have said it, no matter what. You are going to kill me.
He felt scared.
The bravest swordsman of his time, Cheong Myeong would shake the skies and oceans with his ferocious eyes.Then, every once in a while, the gigantic mountains between the sky and oceans would turn into a fearful nightmare, haunting him in his every step as revenge. Cheong Myeong wanted to wake up from this immense slumber. He wished to close his eyes and be 10-year-old again; to open his eyes and smile once more, to gaze at the orange horizon as the sun greeted the mountains of his sect. Finding himself on his Sahyung's shoulders, holding his hands tightly. Would he finally feel safe?
Safe. He should have felt ashamed for desiring such a thing.
Sometimes, Cheong Myeong wished to tear Dang Bo's chest apart. To snap open his rib cage and bore a deep hole in it with his wounded hands. A hole big enough for him to fit in. He could hide in there, cry until his heart stopped mourning. Safe from everything. Safe from himself. In that warm cave, maybe Cheong Myeong could stop bleeding.
Maybe.
"Let that fire swallow me." An empty whisper slipped out of his mouth with a laugh. Against Dang Bo's bosom, his forehead against that fire. Burn my flesh. He screamed at the top of his lungs, yet no sound came out. Melt my bones, let my ashes grow inside you. And one day, I will start another fire inside you. I will kiss these sweaty bones with my burnt lips, climbing up through your throat, leaving a burning trail everywhere I go. It would be impossible to ignore such a blaze. It would be impossible to forget. I would stand there amidst every storm, never letting the wild winds extinguish my flames, never letting you forget me. A fever that kills you from deep inside, that is true. That is me. But never were you a careless one like me. You would always find a way to spit out that cursed poison out of your body. And I would still find a way to count your eyelashes on the ground where you toss me.
Thoughts resembling poisonous snakes were crawling in his head. They longed for something. To burn, to be burned. To dive into that scorching ocean of death. Perhaps to return home. Cheong Myeong killed them the way he killed his enemies. He saw the same stars above again, this time looking at him pitifully. He killed them too. Sweet weight landed upon his eyes. Unconsciousness started to take over the mind and soul as he tried one last time: Was it 162?
Was it 164?
Was it love?
Or his home?
A warm and gentle feeling curled up in Cheong Myeong's heart. Then he remembered. Sleep kissed his forehead like a mother, like a father, like his Sahyung. He closed his eyes, buried his face against Dang Bo's neck. His nose wasn't near the throbbing pulse but his lips brushed past it longingly.
He remembered.
It was 174.
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(—It was 253.)