[ in truth, bu chonghua doesn't need to be at home to be home. he'd realized it quickly and not without its trials — whether in his sleek sky-high apartment or the cold floor of wu yu's room with a single blanket, there is the sense that he is where he belongs so long as wu yu is with him. it could be anywhere, even here: kneeling on the bathroom floor in the glow of the light reflected off stone and porcelain, half-wet and displaced. there are no answers. there is only him.
this is where he needs to be. all other details can be dealt with later. ]
I'm okay. [ the easiest affirmation, free of pretense or obscurity. ] You will be too now that I have you.
[ those same details echo in bu chonghua's mind as if screaming at him: the wounds sustained in the mind being so severe that even the great heave and sigh of the risen water on the peripherals of his foggy thoughts left worry clinging to the very air in his lungs. there had been so much. too much. shots whizzing by, the whisper of blades, bombs whose impacts sent those wintry catacombs into freefall. debris, fire, smoke, snow. so much blood that he'd forgotten his own sense of taste. and finally...
he remembers that last exhausted breath before going under into the pitch black.
bu chonghua reaches out with both hands to hold wu yu's head steady, thumbing the chill from his cheeks. leaning up on his knee, height giving him an advantage when it comes to bridging distances, he captures his lips in a way that betrays his composure. there is such strength in it, such heat that it would seem like he could burst and pour every grace he has into him to ensure that he was kept safe and warm for the rest of his life. then, now, anywhere. here. especially here, in his new and yawning unknown.
in the back of his mind, they have emerged from the water to find an uphill battle, shrouded in fog. dense and mystifying.
but it doesn't matter. ]
I knew you would come.
[ he doesn't need to explain how or why. there isn't an explanation for how much he knows of wu yu, one of the few things bu chonghua doesn't question. each kiss is feverish in its softness, tongue plying chapped lips for the taste of water and blood, the darkness itself.
give these to me — souvenirs for those who have returned. ]
no subject
this is where he needs to be. all other details can be dealt with later. ]
I'm okay. [ the easiest affirmation, free of pretense or obscurity. ] You will be too now that I have you.
[ those same details echo in bu chonghua's mind as if screaming at him: the wounds sustained in the mind being so severe that even the great heave and sigh of the risen water on the peripherals of his foggy thoughts left worry clinging to the very air in his lungs. there had been so much. too much. shots whizzing by, the whisper of blades, bombs whose impacts sent those wintry catacombs into freefall. debris, fire, smoke, snow. so much blood that he'd forgotten his own sense of taste. and finally...
he remembers that last exhausted breath before going under into the pitch black.
bu chonghua reaches out with both hands to hold wu yu's head steady, thumbing the chill from his cheeks. leaning up on his knee, height giving him an advantage when it comes to bridging distances, he captures his lips in a way that betrays his composure. there is such strength in it, such heat that it would seem like he could burst and pour every grace he has into him to ensure that he was kept safe and warm for the rest of his life. then, now, anywhere. here. especially here, in his new and yawning unknown.
in the back of his mind, they have emerged from the water to find an uphill battle, shrouded in fog. dense and mystifying.
but it doesn't matter. ]
I knew you would come.
[ he doesn't need to explain how or why. there isn't an explanation for how much he knows of wu yu, one of the few things bu chonghua doesn't question. each kiss is feverish in its softness, tongue plying chapped lips for the taste of water and blood, the darkness itself.
give these to me — souvenirs for those who have returned. ]
So I waited for you.