( once, bu chonghua told him that if he spoke, he would believe him; that saying words in that place had power, that they could mean something other than nothing. more than once, bu chonghua has come to stand on his side of things whether in confrontation or secrecy. held on his back, wu yu remembers this as clearly as if it had all happened moments ago even though this is not the case. the ring on his finger glints even in the dark; especially in the dark. wu yu's eyes close and the press of his face to bu chonghua's nape means the drag of his eyelashes is a soft, water laden touch. )
I will never let anyone cut off your hand, left or right.
( this: murmured like an i love you. this: murmured like the sea at its kindest. this: the words of luxury because to speak from a place of protecting that which one cares about versus speaking from a place of employ or siege is more than all the gold or drugs in any world.
this.
wu yu breathes and it hurts but how lucky even that is because it tells him he is alive.
that he thought they would die is the truth. that he is devastated with relief to feel the heartbeat of this person holding him up is also undeniable. that he cannot trust this place even with his words and their self evident proof is a given. if wu yu were to lay down his guards of skepticism in a situation like this, he would go in too many directions, a single spool of thread torn down its center to reveal the impossibly thin warps and wefts that make one tenacious red line. he cannot do it.
what he can do: trust bu chonghua anyway.
he does.
the full bodied shiver runs its course and wu yu's collapsed weight on bu chonghua's back is merely a readjustment of how it already was, the hand with its unobtrusive ring blindly brushing the side of his face. if he were more coherent and less preoccupied with the mystery they find themselves in, wu yu might have used that same hand to turn the face of his ride, might kiss him on the mouth the way he teased with smoke and a few words what feels ages ago. only of course to find out eventually he wouldn't have been teaching him anything.
the quietly forced down swallow still tastes a little too much like blood. wu yu keeps his eyes shut against bu chonghua's skin to tamp down on the nausea and frowns a little at the scent of sea salt that vies for dominance the way a feeling of being lost does. )
...where...where are...going?
( words muddle, mute and soften since he does not lift his head. it's clear that bu chonghua has somewhere in mind, and wu yu would have asked earlier if he'd had a better sense of things to begin with. another soft breath bares its teeth in the form of trembling. he's still too close to drowned, too cold. but the body under him is as warm as a day in the sun. )
no subject
I will never let anyone cut off your hand, left or right.
( this: murmured like an i love you. this: murmured like the sea at its kindest. this: the words of luxury because to speak from a place of protecting that which one cares about versus speaking from a place of employ or siege is more than all the gold or drugs in any world.
this.
wu yu breathes and it hurts but how lucky even that is because it tells him he is alive.
that he thought they would die is the truth. that he is devastated with relief to feel the heartbeat of this person holding him up is also undeniable. that he cannot trust this place even with his words and their self evident proof is a given. if wu yu were to lay down his guards of skepticism in a situation like this, he would go in too many directions, a single spool of thread torn down its center to reveal the impossibly thin warps and wefts that make one tenacious red line. he cannot do it.
what he can do: trust bu chonghua anyway.
he does.
the full bodied shiver runs its course and wu yu's collapsed weight on bu chonghua's back is merely a readjustment of how it already was, the hand with its unobtrusive ring blindly brushing the side of his face. if he were more coherent and less preoccupied with the mystery they find themselves in, wu yu might have used that same hand to turn the face of his ride, might kiss him on the mouth the way he teased with smoke and a few words what feels ages ago. only of course to find out eventually he wouldn't have been teaching him anything.
the quietly forced down swallow still tastes a little too much like blood. wu yu keeps his eyes shut against bu chonghua's skin to tamp down on the nausea and frowns a little at the scent of sea salt that vies for dominance the way a feeling of being lost does. )
...where...where are...going?
( words muddle, mute and soften since he does not lift his head. it's clear that bu chonghua has somewhere in mind, and wu yu would have asked earlier if he'd had a better sense of things to begin with. another soft breath bares its teeth in the form of trembling. he's still too close to drowned, too cold. but the body under him is as warm as a day in the sun. )