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“I’ve never been human.”
He doesn’t expect Mo Ran to answer. He doesn’t even expect him to hear the quiet whisper, considering he appears to be asleep. Yet, Mo Ran’s eyes shoot open almost immediately, the hand on his waist twitching, flattening itself against his naked skin.
“Mo Ran,” he says, something pricking at his eyes that he knows all too well are tears. He hasn’t been fine recently. He doesn’t know why. Everything should be fine. Him and Mo Ran are safe. That should be everything that counts. He’s with Mo Ran, has been for almost a year now – so why is he not okay?
“Wanning,” comes the quiet whisper, the hand from his waist gliding all the way up towards his face. A thumb gently caresses his burning cheek; whether it’s from embarrassment or the hot tears flowing out of his eyes at the pure love in Mo Ran’s voice, tainting his name with it until its all soaked through and mellow and pronounced in a way that no one ever dared to. “Wanning. Of course you’re-“
“I’m not! I’ve never been. How could you possibly love me?”
The question isn’t new. It’s not the first time he’s asked, and he’s sure that it also won’t be the last time. It’s released into the night with a sob, quiet but audible to Mo Ran, since he’s so close to him still, facing him, even though one of them must have rolled away in their sleep.
Because even Mo Ran will leave one day, Chu Wanning’s mind tells him. Because him rolling away in his sleep is just the first sign of many that he’ll undoubtedly start spotting soon. Because he’s never been loved, never been cherished, no one ever died for him – and then Mo Ran simply did, as if there were no questions to be asked, no doubts at all.
It was only then that he started breaking apart; once everything was over and he realized that someone died for him. That someone gifted him a small red pendant to make sure he stays warm, which glints a little in the light of the moon falling in through the window. Someone who would kiss him and look at him with so much desire in his eyes that sometimes, Chu Wanning has to physically turn away.
All those years, he’s been so cold. How could he suddenly be accustomed to heat?
“Oh, Wanning,” he makes, that thumb on his cheek still stroking it; sometimes, some of his other fingers push silken strands of hair behind his ear. “How could I possibly not love you?”
It’s that certainty in his voice that makes him hurt so much. The reassurance, and Chu Wanning believes him, no, it’s not about that – it’s about everything else. The fact that it’s him who holds this much affection, when Chu Wanning has never had even an ounce of it in his life before. But now, Mo Ran is here, has been for two lifetimes, cradling all that love inside of his arms.
Enough love to break Chu Wanning all the way from the inside.
And humans wouldn’t break.
Wood, however, does.
So he breaks. Chu Wanning breaks and breaks and breaks, because he’s not human, and even if he was, he wouldn’t be. All his life, he’s been different, and he learned that as soon as he left Huaizui. He learned that not everyone thinks as rigidly as him. That other people aren’t as picky about their food and clothes, that other people are warm, talk in gestures and with heat and joy, whereas Chu Wanning has always been…
Well, the exact opposite. Cold, stiff, ever unchanging, sitting alone at Mengpo hall. Above everyone, yet below everyone at the very same time. Better than everyone, yet worse. Respected, yet disrespected. Praised, and talked about behind his back.
“I’m not even human, so how could you…!” he repeats, suppressing the quiet wail that attempts to surface and has been trying to ever since he first left his master. Because Chu Wanning was so bold to say that you can’t save yourself if you can’t save others, but then he turned out to be unable to save anyone.
Mo Ran took the flower for him. Mo Ran died for him. Mo Ran died for him again. Mo Ran, the one who keeps assuring him that Chu Wanning did save him, any yet.
The hand that cradles his head in the next second pushes him forward until his forehead is resting against Mo Ran’s tanned chest, and he holds him as if Chu Wanning is the love that Mo Ran has been protecting all this time.
And Chu Wanning cries, while Mo Ran lets him. He soothes him, petting his head like he was a cat, with so much care, yet firmly enough. A leg is thrown over his own, pinning him onto the bed just a little, applying some pressure as if in an attempt to ground him.
Only when that awful, awful wail does leave his mouth does Mo Ran speak back up.
“Love, love, ssh,” he mumbles, his other hand grabbing Chu Wanning’s, “it’s okay. I don’t care how you see yourself. Or how other people see you. I know it’s not true. I know you’re human.”
“I’m not…!”
“Yes, you are. You’ve always been. You're crying right now, so of course you're human. Wanning, I love you. You know that’s true.”
He manages a small nod into Mo Ran’s chest. He does know. He just doesn’t deserve it.
“I would love you, even if you weren’t human. It doesn’t matter to me. As long as you’re just you.”
“But I’m- awful,” Chu Wanning chokes out in between wet, pathetic sobs that make his throat burn, make the heat from his cheeks spread all the way to his chest, “I’m ugly. I’m old. I’m cold. All the time. I’m a horrible person. I’ve hurt you. I’ve said so many hurtful things to you…!”
That prompts a barked out little laugh from Mo Ran.
“If you want a competition about who of us has said worse things to the other, hold it with Taxian-jun tomorrow morning.”
The leg on his shifts enough to push him further down, and it’s only now that Chu Wanning reaches for Mo Ran’s back to hold on to it. To feel the steady flow of blood below his skin in the form of his body temperature, make sure he’s alive. He feels his heart beat against his forehead, hears it, strong, as if it’s never been torn out right in front of him. Because he was too late, always too late.
“Wanning. If you’re not human, then neither am I. If you have said bad things to me, then I’ve said even worse. If you don’t judge me for these things, then why yourself?”
“Because I’m-“
“Because you should be held to different standards? Because only you should be perfect? Because you were shaped to be something perfect, and then didn’t live up to it? Wanning. I don’t care what shape you have. Even if you’re rough at the edges, and even if I catch a thousand splinters on my hands, I don’t care, don’t you know?”
Of course he knows. How could he not know, after he’s held this man on a snowy night?
After he’s clung to his robes begging him so desperately to come back with him, when Chu Wanning’s hands were full of blood, molding wontons into the sort of shapes that he could never be?
He knows, and yet it hurts, because for years, Chu Wanning never allowed it to. Now, however, the pain is spilling over, as if bubbling out of a wound long open yet sealed shut with nothing but sheer willpower. And once it’s open, once he dares to experience being honest about his feelings, how could he ever just let it close back up?
Because even if it hurts, Mo Ran still manages to make even his pain feel strangely beautiful.
“Mo Ran,” he makes, digging his nails into Mo Ran’s back; there’s no physical reaction to the pain, and if Chu Wanning does this because he wants crescent shaped scars on Mo Ran’s body to match his own, to claim this man as thoroughly as he possibly could because deep, deep down, he might just be more possessive than the worst version of Mo Ran, then that’s between him and his lover’s skin. “Mo Ran. It hurts. It just hurts so badly. I don’t know what to do. I’ve never hurt like this. Only when you-“
The words ‘only when you died’ remain stuck on his tongue. He doesn’t want to be reminded of it, doesn’t want to think about how he had thought he’d lost Mo Ran. How he had charged into a fight with Hua Binan, no respect to his personal safety, because if he died, then good; at least he would be able to find Mo Ran all the way down in hell, then.
“I’m here,” Mo Ran says, “and I know. I know how much it hurts sometimes. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. I’m not going to leave you. I love you. Wanning, you’ve ought to calm down. You’ll be all cranky tomorrow morning if you don’t go back to sleep soon.”
Chu Wanning sniffs, and finally, his voice hoarse now, the wails and sobs and cries stop. He doesn’t stop crying, tears relentlessly streaming down his face, but Mo Ran saying that he’s going to stay, and that he’s going to be okay – it’s hard to not believe him. It’s just so hard to not believe the man who transcended death twice for him.
“I’ve already told you. I’m going to hold an umbrella over you forever, as long as you let me. For as long as I live.”
It just hurts. But Chu Wanning lets it hurt, because it’s safe to let it do so. Because Mo Ran cradles him like he’s everything that he’s ever needed, and Chu Wanning is just so glad to be needed.
“You’re human, Wanning. I’m… terribly sorry for all the times I implied or directly said otherwise.”
“It’s not- your fault,” he says, and both of them know it’s not. Their first story started and ended with a flower, and the second one still began with one – so how could any of it truly be Mo Ran’s fault?
“Wanning,” comes the next quiet whisper, “if I could crush you all into myself, I would. If there was a way to become one with you, once and for all, for more than just a few minutes or hours at a time- I would. If you were a god, I’d pray to you, and even if you’re just human, I’ll still pray to you.”
His embrace is so strong.
‘Just human’.
He says it like it’s a bad thing, when it’s so, so good to Chu Wanning. Because Mo Ran doesn’t ever doubt that he’s human, a person, that he has feelings and emotions and that he laughs and cries all the same, even if only ever in front of him.
“Wanning. How could I not love you? How could you ever be ugly or old or awful to me? How could you ever- how could I ever think that way about you?”
This time, it’s Mo Ran’s words that go unspoken; the whispers of ‘because even when the flower deluded me into thinking that way, it never succeeded completely’ escape into the room, burn away under the moon’s gaze. Almost as if they were soaring high up in the sky again, seated on a sword, the ground uncountable feet below them, with only the cold air of the night and Mo Ran’s warm hand and warm heart accompanying him.
Even if Chu Wanning doesn’t manage an answer, his body soon is too tired to keep on crying, and then he just sniffles awkwardly against Mo Ran’s chest, constantly held against him. It takes a long while for the tears to stop completely though, and when they do, Mo Ran tries to reach for the tissue on the nightstand, but Chu Wanning doesn’t let him. He can’t have him let go of him, not right now. His nails are still buried in his skin. There’s still no complaint about it.
After another while, his eyes start falling shut, his body demanding sleep even though everything still hurts; soothed by Mo Ran’s words and presence, but not yet fixed. The prospect of it taking a while for him to heal, though, suddenly doesn’t sound that bad. Not when he’s here to be with him. To just… be with him. He doesn’t have to do more than just stay, and prove that he’s staying.
“Mo Ran,” he mumbles, nuzzling just a little closer, ignoring the embarrassment flaring up inside of him.
Mo Ran is safe.
He would never hurt him. He hurt him before, but he would never hurt him.
“You’ll be there when I wake up?”
“Yes. I will, Wanning. I’ll be there.”
“Please- even for breakfast or anything… don’t leave. Be there. You have to be there when I wake up.”
Or else I might break for good, and you can’t stick wood back together in the exact way it used to be in before you tore it apart.
“I’ll be there. I’ll hold you,” Mo Ran whispers, kissing his hair and forehead and then burying his chin inside of it. “I won’t let go of you until you say it’s okay to do so.”
That’s enough. For now, this is enough for Chu Wanning.
He lets himself fall back into sleep, and even if he wakes up every few minutes because everything just hurts so badly, that’s okay, because Mo Ran is there, all the time. Caressing his cheeks and hair and back.
He’s there and sees him through all the pain and hurt and ache.
When Chu Wanning wakes up for good, the sun is high up in the sky, and Mo Ran is quietly snoring into his chest now. He could tell Mo Ran to let go of him now, sure that he wouldn’t fall apart anymore; but how could he let go of Mo Ran?
So, he closes his eyes back up, even if he never falls back asleep, and cradles his love.