[ good, he listened. bu chonghua smiles at the quiet intonation of his intent — love, protection, a breathing latticework of safety that has grown strong and wild between the two of them. there is this and then there is room for nothing or no one more while it mends the minutes lost, the rift in time that they've both fallen through. wu yu may not be able to see it, but the effect it has on his body is like the roll of a wave, soft and soothing. from his angle, he can't hold him in any other way, but with the way his cheek tips against the absent draw of wu yu's fingers, he acts in defiance of the bitter cold, the gaping maw of the monsters in the water.
he doesn't ask him not to question. not to fight. not to trust the instincts rooted in his stomach like claws or an ancient forest through which no light penetrates. only to listen.
bu chonghua's whole body is alight with a thrum that betrays the weight at the bottom of his heart. ]
A place I made for us.
[ as if wu yu not being next to him had never occurred to him once, wet lash and wetter lung, cold fingers set at an agonizing and weakened crawl against dry skin. the rims of his eyes feel hot but his voice smooths against the junctures of how their bodies fit together, a rhythmic lull to guide lovers lost as sea back to shore. ]
It's not far from here.
[ and true to his word, it's a short trip up and incline and away from the sun-baked plaza, down a winding residential road towards a series of housing units. bu chonghua navigates well even though he's been here half a day, through a gate and under an archway, up a series of stone steps to a door that lets in to a much more modest apartment than he's used to, but he enters without a note of dismissal or rejection for it. it is indoors, stocked, and for now —
safe.
a light flips on to motley colors: cream and stone, accents of red and teal. not yet lived in, but not yet unclaimed by bu chonghua either. beneath the warm overhead light he heads for the bathroom, a flick of the switch using his elbow illuminating them both in the mirror. whatever wounds he sustained in the mine are fresh but attended to, lessened by some force he doesn't bring into question right now.
not when he kneels near the toilet, gingerly letting wu yu off of his back. ]
no subject
he doesn't ask him not to question. not to fight. not to trust the instincts rooted in his stomach like claws or an ancient forest through which no light penetrates. only to listen.
bu chonghua's whole body is alight with a thrum that betrays the weight at the bottom of his heart. ]
A place I made for us.
[ as if wu yu not being next to him had never occurred to him once, wet lash and wetter lung, cold fingers set at an agonizing and weakened crawl against dry skin. the rims of his eyes feel hot but his voice smooths against the junctures of how their bodies fit together, a rhythmic lull to guide lovers lost as sea back to shore. ]
It's not far from here.
[ and true to his word, it's a short trip up and incline and away from the sun-baked plaza, down a winding residential road towards a series of housing units. bu chonghua navigates well even though he's been here half a day, through a gate and under an archway, up a series of stone steps to a door that lets in to a much more modest apartment than he's used to, but he enters without a note of dismissal or rejection for it. it is indoors, stocked, and for now —
safe.
a light flips on to motley colors: cream and stone, accents of red and teal. not yet lived in, but not yet unclaimed by bu chonghua either. beneath the warm overhead light he heads for the bathroom, a flick of the switch using his elbow illuminating them both in the mirror. whatever wounds he sustained in the mine are fresh but attended to, lessened by some force he doesn't bring into question right now.
not when he kneels near the toilet, gingerly letting wu yu off of his back. ]
Sit. Let me look at you.