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It is a late night when Blade comes to visit Jing Yuan.
He slips through the window, takes off his shoes, and quietly walks down the dark hallway towards Jing Yuan’s room. He did it countless times already, and he knew this house by heart, though he never actually stayed here for longer than one night at a time. Jing Yuan always wanted him to linger, he wanted to have breakfast together, to bathe, to do each other’s hair, to simply lie in bed until the morning slowly turned into midday. But Blade always found excuses not to. It’s dangerous, he said. You’re not supposed to have a wanted criminal in your bed, he said. Jing Yuan didn’t care. Blade knew that. And despite the countless arguments they had, Blade refused to voice aloud that he, not for once, wanted to spend his mornings by Jing Yuan’s side.
He stops, a sliver of warm light coming from the half-closed door. Blade raises his hand, places it on the wood, and slowly opens the door a bit wider, just enough for him to enter. His eyes instantly fall on the figure sitting on the bed, but the sight of Jing Yuan fills Blade’s chest not with relief of a long-awaited warmth, but with dread he wasn’t sure he was still capable of feeling.
Jing Yuan sits under the gentle glow of the lamp, his sleeping robe loose, hair disheveled. His skin, however, is unusually pale, cracked in some places on the side of his face and down the line of his neck and shoulder. Some yellow leaves that stuck out from the wider cracks made Blade’s chest ache. The look in Jing Yuan’s eyes is hollow until he raises his head to look at the swordsman.
It wasn’t supposed to happen so soon. It wasn’t supposed to happen at all, even if Blade understood that it still would, eventually.
And when it did happen, he barely knew what to do. How to feel.
It hurts.
Of course it does.
“I heard you come in,” Jing Yuan says, breaking the silence. There is a weak smile on his face when he lightly pats the bed beside him with his hand, inviting the swordsman closer.
Blade’s legs feel heavy when he moves deeper into the room and sits on the edge of the bed. He’s hesitant to look into Jing Yuan’s eyes, but he does it anyway. From up close, Jing Yuan’s skin looks even paler, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced. The general’s smile widens, just slightly, and Blade notices how pained his expression looks.
“How are you feeling?” he asks hesitantly, his voice quiet. Perhaps he already knows the answer.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Jing Yuan complains.
It isn’t exactly an answer to Blade’s question, but he still nods a little, thinking that it’s rare for the ever-drowsy general not to be able to fall asleep. Blade wonders if sleeping was always Jing Yuan’s way to keep himself sane for longer, when he didn’t have to think, to function, to remember his past. This way, he thought, maybe Jing Yuan was able to keep mara at bay at least for a few more years if he slept at every available opportunity and didn’t let a single negative thought visit his mind.
Blade raises his hand, the back of his knuckles makes contact with Jing Yuan’s cheek. His thumb traces the small mole under Jing Yuan’s eye, so achingly close to the shallow crack that branches at his temple.
Jing Yuan sits there quietly, looking at Blade with heavy-lidded, tired eyes. He doesn’t utter a single word, just leans slightly into Blade’s hand when the man’s fingertips touch the side of his face. He feels a gentle caress against his temple, then a tentative brush of the fingers tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. There is a soft rustle when the lone leaf falls from his hair onto his lap — a smudge of yellow against the white sheets. He slowly brushes it away.
For a while, Blade simply observes Jing Yuan. The leaves don’t suit him. For a second there, he doesn’t even look like the same Jing Yuan that Blade used to know. His hands suddenly ache with the need to fix it. To return Jing Yuan’s eyes their gentle look.
The swordsman, keeping one hand still on Jing Yuan’s face, reaches towards the bedside table. He knows where Jing Yuan keeps most of his things, so he easily retrieves a comb and red ribbon that Jing Yuan so often wears. His gaze returns to the general’s, and when they meet, the corners of Jing Yuan’s eyes crinkle with amusement. Jing Yuan understands and slightly shifts on the bed, making some room for Blade to sit behind him. He closes his eyes then. It’s better when he doesn’t have to see the world. He is tired, and he doesn’t even hide it. Tired of duties, tired of memories, tired of remembering countless choices he hadn’t made.
When Blade’s fingers find their way into Jing Yuan’s hair, they are incredibly gentle. Carefully, Blade removes some leaves from the blond locks that were in his way, letting them fall somewhere on the bedding. He begins to slowly comb Jing Yuan’s hair, untangling the knots and smoothing them down.
“Does it get louder?” Blade asks quietly. “In your head.”
“Mm.” Jing Yuan nods, his gaze turning distant as if on command. “Do you remember how Baiheng used to bicker with Dan Feng when they both got drunk? Jingliu always remained so calm during those moments… I always wondered how she managed to keep her face straight all the time.” His smile turns wistful as his head fills with a stream of memories he couldn’t seem to stop. “I remember… how you hit your hand with a hammer during forging… and Dan Feng spent half an hour healing your broken bone and chiding you.”
Blade’s fingers still briefly in the blond hair. He tries to recall the moments of their shared past that Jing Yuan just voiced, but, for him, there was a deep void where his own memories should’ve been. The names, however, sting. He doesn’t want to think about any of that, but he can’t find in himself any strength to deny Jing Yuan this little indulgence.
“No,” he murmurs as his hands resume their ministrations. “I don’t.”
Jing Yuan hums, but he doesn’t say anything more. His head feels way too overwhelmed with memories lately, the ones he couldn’t seem to let go of completely, and the ones he thought he had already left behind. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t fall asleep tonight in the first place.
He lets Blade finish working and tie his hair in a loose ponytail with the red ribbon, while Jing Yuan left to simply sit there and enjoy the way the man’s fingers run through his hair. It’s a pleasant feeling, Jing Yuan thinks. When Blade’s hands finally settle on his shoulders, he slightly turns his head towards the swordsman.
“How do I look now, Yingxing-ge?”
Blade doesn’t need to think long to come up with an answer. It was always there, on the tip of his tongue. But this time, his throat feels tighter. Every attempt to make the night seem normal, like nothing bad was happening, felt like it was slipping through his fingers the moment he even tried to clench his fist to hold it tighter.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs eventually.
The general smiles wider, before letting out a soft, affectionate laughter. He leans forward, bumping his forehead against Blade’s shoulder and staying there.
“Am I, really?” Jing Yuan asks. He doesn’t believe it. Not when his skin is marred by the curse of Abundance.
But Blade is certain in his words. Jing Yuan is always beautiful in his eyes. No matter how the latter might perceive it.
“You are.”
Blade moves his arm to gently embrace Jing Yuan, his palm coming to rest between the man’s shoulder blades. His thumb rubs small, reassuring circles on the soft fabric of the general’s robe. In response, Jing Yuan allows himself to press closer against the warmth of Blade’s body. He nuzzles into his neck and sighs. Jing Yuan doesn’t know how many more times they will meet until the inevitable happens, but he doesn’t care about it now. He doesn’t care about the leaves, about the slight pull of his skin where it is cracked. He just cares about this moment and this affectionate side of Blade he rarely sees. He tries to remember this moment as it is, before the mara would completely consume his very being.
“I don’t want to die,” Jing Yuan whispers, his voice muffled a little.
He won’t.
Technically, he won’t.
But his consciousness will.
And, with it, Jing Yuan himself.
Because what is a person, if not their ability to think?
Blade remains silent. What is there to say? He can’t promise that everything will be alright. How can he do that, if the only person he truly ever loved is now crumbling right in front of him? Right in his arms?
“Promise me you won’t be there to see what I’ve become,” Jing Yuan adds in an even quieter voice. He lifts his head from Blade’s shoulder, looking up at him with a somewhat pained expression. “Please?”
And Blade doesn’t know how to promise that. He can’t just let Jing Yuan go without a simple goodbye. He can’t… He can’t just let Jing Yuan go.
The lips that cover Jing Yuan’s are warm, slightly rough to the touch. He doesn’t resist much, allowing Blade to kiss him and silence every bit of worry in his chest.
It isn’t exactly an answer Jing Yuan wanted, but it’s alright.
Blade’s presence here, by his side in the middle of the night, was the answer itself.