[ . . . . . . that gets him to settle some. there's a tension between him and gu yun - as someone who stubbornly refuses to take orders from anyone who hasn't earned his trust, and someone who seems to give orders like it's breathing air to him. he just sighs a bit before shaking his head.]
... it's not about hoping, Gu-san. I've got to do it.
[there's no room for failure as far as mineo's concerned - and he knows so many other people who must feel the same way but. he never wants to feel lost and slow ever again. not when his goal is so clear in front of him
but.]
... Thanks.
[for both the well wishes, and the willing to let the topic go.]
[ that first comment gets a snort, and then, dryly - ] Do I seem much the type who relies only on hopes and well wishes?
[ because... yea! he's not. at all. gu yun is a man of action - and he wouldn't say something like that if he didn't already know that mineo was just going to do it, so.
that should be it, then. with the thanks, he gives a nod of his head and pushes his hands into his pockets, ready to move onwards, but --
--
you are sick.
you have been sick many, many times in your life. as a child, you were too small, too scrawny - born one day after the luckiest day of the year to be born, surely a bad omen. if there is a fever, you have had it. if there is a sickness, it has consumed you. and you've fought your way through it to adulthood, to your position as the marquis of order.
it is late march, and you're escorting the barbarian prince out of the pass and back to the heavenly tribes. winter has been brutal, this year, and your body - no matter how much you trained, no matter how much you fought for it, is not actually made of iron.
the marshal's tent in your encampment is too hot. you can faintly hear your subordinate enter the tent, the doctor reaching to place an acupuncture needle in your head -- the entire room smells like blood, and you don't help it, as a disciple of the doctor tries to help you up. you swat his hand away, double over, and vomit a pint of blood at the bedside. you can't sit up. you can't hear. you can't see. you can't eat.
all you can do is lay here, and you, marquis of order, gu yun, have never been afraid of death. you're ready for it to come for you on a battlefield - not in a tent on the side of the road, with your best friend wringing his hands right next to you. days pass, and your condition does not better - you're able to sit up and speak, tell shen yi that you're fine, and then, within hours, you can't keep down a bowl of gruel, and you've done nothing but drift between consciousness and misery, hallucinating from your fever. after a week, you're so thin your skin is nearly see through - and when the guard tries to bring you a meal, you turn your head away from it.
the guard looks like he's in tears. you can barely see him, your vision blurry; even like this, you try to give him a little smile as you shake your head. my throat is too sore. i can't swallow anything. your noodle soup is delicious, but i've thrown up so much, it hurts to eat.
(when animals are close to dying, they refuse to eat, too. it's not lost on you - maybe this is it.)
your thoughts are interrupted, though, by a sudden, cold metal being placed on your nose. it's a liuli glass, and your blurry, dark vision clears a little, enough that you can see shen yi at your bedside. the cold is so jarring that it forces you to try and gather your thoughts. you make a gesture in shen yi's direction, weakly. what's the matter.
shen yi stays where he is - the look on his face is complicated, before suddenly, it brightens. he reaches into the breast of his armor and pulls out a tube, holding a letter. "It's a reply from the capital."
for a moment, you aren't sure what to say. you stare at the letter in shen yi's hand - and you feel something rise in the back of your head, recognition. it's not just a letter from the capital. it's a letter from chang geng.
you take in a breath. it hurts. ] Get out. [ are the first words that rasp out of your mouth, in days.
shen yi looks at you, oddly - and then, you see the corner of his mouth lifting into a smile as he sets the tube of the letter at the foot of your bed. even a sick as a dog, you feel the urge to swat at him for it, and your second in command steps away, starting to leave, though he glances at you over his shoulder after four steps. - "Zixi, you..."
you respond by swatting the letter to the ground like a child, because you want him to leave, and shen yi sighs, going to see if he can find the doctor once more.
for a moment, you stare at the case holding the letter, rolling on the ground. half a month ago, you were looking forward to this letter - you'd left chang geng behind without saying goodbye, early in the morning on a mission. that child thinks so much, you think to yourself, as you slowly gather the memory of the letter you'd written chang geng, he must be very pained.
you start to go back to where you were laying, and pause, looking down at the back of your own hand, where the veins stick out green against your pale, pale skin. if you think about it, you can almost hear it.
"shiliu! take your medicine!" chang geng's voice rings through your heard, fourteen and exasperated, throwing his arms up in the air.
"...Don't move,", chang geng says, when you can't see straight, tenderness in his awkward touch, as he's bringing you breakfast because he's good, "Be careful not to burn yourself, it's hot."
"Yifu, you're the best person to me int he world." he says, and in your minds eye, you can picture him, fourteen years old, baby fat in his cheeks, brown, curly hair and a smile on his face, as rare as a diamond as you've presented him with an iron wristband that shoots darts, as he clutches it to his chest.
"I won't go, I have to practice my swordsmanship!" chang geng, complaining, as you pull him out to play, (he gets so red in the face, when he's huffy and mad at your teasing) "Who will take care of you in the future, if i don't learn well?!"
"Yifu, don't come in until you finish them." and, you remember, him standing there next to an iron puppet dressed in silks and rouge, quietly embarrassed, and giving it a pat on the side as the iron puppet holds out a bowl of longevity noodles, for your birthday, the day before you left, a tiny, silly action that made your house feel like home. you remember, the way that he watched you, trying to pretend he wasn't, when you slurped up the longevity noodles at the door, because it was bad luck to eat them before you went in - you remember, he cracked the eggs to go in the noodles, and your first bite was full of eggshells, and you ate every single bite of the noodles anyway.
your chest heaves, violently, and you grab onto the side of your cot, forcing your legs over the side to the floor, and push yourself to a standing position. your body's weak, too weak, and you can't hold yourself up for more than a second - the world goes dizzy and you slam into the ground, on your knees. there's a wind slasher within your line of sight - you reach out and grab it with your trembling hands, and use it as a crutch, to drag yourself across the floor and grab the letter that rolled halfway across the tent.
your hands are shaking so hard that you can't get the tube open. you hiss and swear and push yourself, miss the latch, miss it twice, grab it and finally force the latch open so the paper inside comes rolling out.
you put it on the ground in front of you, and you start to read. ]
Edited (no my aesthetic icon) 2021-02-25 01:48 (UTC)
dear yifu, since you left, there are no relatives left for me in this large capital city. there's only a piece of armor accompanies me, that i can talk to for comfort.
i've got nothing beside me, just a piece of your shoulder armor.
the plum blossoms in the manor are about to wilt. i hope that you saw the flowers before you left; otherwise, its heart will be in vain for another year. even if it blooms every year past, none will ever be the same as this one.
the affairs of the military in the northwest are plenty. i shouldn't write to disturb you often, should i? you must be very busy. maybe you don't miss me... but i'm different.
the capital is so lonely. i have no one to miss, except you, yifu."
the wind slasher drops out of your other, trembling hand in a loud, obnoxious clatter that rattles your ears. you remember the way you felt when the emperor died - when he left you behind, the last living piece of your family, gone. but
that wasn't the case, was it? this little boy who's life you saved, you - you are all he has left.
the clatter brings your men dashing into your tent with a clamor, terrified that you've died, but you feel more alive than you have in a week.
that night, when shen yi brings your noodles, you slurp down every bite, pained or not. you don't care, that you can smell your own blood. you eat, and you guzzle water, and you sink your claws into life, and you drag yourself back up to existence. it takes three days to get up and walk. you're back into your armor after five. two weeks, halfway to the northwestern border, you are yourself again. the fever that should have killed you fails to finish the job.
you fold the letter and keep it in your breast pocket.
you will not leave chang geng alone.
you will not die here. you refuse. not here. not now.
it resonates in a way that mineo can't quite bring words to at the moment, his heart aching at the memory. he's a bleeding heart, at the end of the day, no matter how he attempts to put people at a distance. he is friendly, and he gives without concern for himself, but he is always wary of an attack in return. he is always sure that someone will one day turn a blade on him.
but it doesn't matter in the face of something like this. in the face of such bold-faced humanity, he cannot and will not ever be able to remain steadfast or steely.]
.... I have a little sister. She's eleven years younger than me, so sometimes I feel like I actually raised her too. Since she was a baby. But I haven't gotten to see her in a while, even before I came here - I would send her pictures of me all the time just to make sure that she didn't forget my face. I was seriously worried.
[ . . . he knocks his knuckles against gu yun's shoulder. a light tap.]
When things get tough here, I remember I gotta get home. And I gotta see her again.
[a beat and then - ]
You want me to forget it?
[he will offer, in exchange for what gu yun agreed for him - but... he can't just forget without offering some words of his own.]
[ eleven years is a larger age gap than what's between him and chang geng - only seven. it's funny, sometimes, because he doesn't feel like a father. gu yun barely even knows what a father is, and how a father should act - only how one shouldn't. his relationship with his ward is complicated laughs weakly but... he means the world to gu yun, even now. even if he's bad at saying it. even if he disappears for months at a time, because his country needs him, he's been trying to do his best for him, by him, because he loves him dearly, and gu yun knows what it means to be left behind.
mineo's right. he does have to get home. for a moment, he idly wonders how chang geng would react, if he suddenly sent him an image of his face. he'd probably tear it into pieces, or shove it under his bed in embarrassment, both of which are kind of funny? something to consider doing when he goes back. even that just leaves him thinking a bit fondly, and the gentle tap of knuckles brings him back out of the soft fog of the memory itself. ]
That was my wish, wasn't it? [ from their first conversation. something that matters to him. gu yun's mouth is pulled up in a smile, but it lacks that confident, shitty air it usually has, for the topic at hand. it's a little wry. yifu, you're all that i have left. ] We'd been separated for some time; I was at the border for a year, so it took months after that letter for me to see him again. In fact, we'd only just reunited mere days before I arrived here, and I'm sure he's quite cross with me that I've gone and vanished once more. I'll hear an earful when I return, and I will do everything in my power to hear it.
[ which means he absolutely, positively, cannot die here. he will not die here.
some of gu yun's normal confidence returns, after that, but there's a genuine warmth to it, to the usual determination, to that usual easy twinkle to his eye. ] No - you don't have to forget. Though, if he happens to show up here out of the blue, I'd ask that you didn't tell him his yifu's so sentimental too easily.
[ this is a weakness, in its own right, but sickness is one that he overcame. there's only one secret gu yun has that he keeps unbelievably close to his chest - otherwise, there's no shame, as these memories bear his past for the world to see. he's got nothing here to hide. (except maybe the fact that he's got a secret soft heart under there but shhh.) ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
idk ill find something
no subject
... it's not about hoping, Gu-san. I've got to do it.
[there's no room for failure as far as mineo's concerned - and he knows so many other people who must feel the same way but. he never wants to feel lost and slow ever again. not when his goal is so clear in front of him
but.]
... Thanks.
[for both the well wishes, and the willing to let the topic go.]
1/2
[ because... yea! he's not. at all. gu yun is a man of action - and he wouldn't say something like that if he didn't already know that mineo was just going to do it, so.
that should be it, then. with the thanks, he gives a nod of his head and pushes his hands into his pockets, ready to move onwards, but --
--
you are sick.
you have been sick many, many times in your life. as a child, you were too small, too scrawny - born one day after the luckiest day of the year to be born, surely a bad omen. if there is a fever, you have had it. if there is a sickness, it has consumed you. and you've fought your way through it to adulthood, to your position as the marquis of order.
it is late march, and you're escorting the barbarian prince out of the pass and back to the heavenly tribes. winter has been brutal, this year, and your body - no matter how much you trained, no matter how much you fought for it, is not actually made of iron.
the marshal's tent in your encampment is too hot. you can faintly hear your subordinate enter the tent, the doctor reaching to place an acupuncture needle in your head -- the entire room smells like blood, and you don't help it, as a disciple of the doctor tries to help you up. you swat his hand away, double over, and vomit a pint of blood at the bedside. you can't sit up. you can't hear. you can't see. you can't eat.
all you can do is lay here, and you, marquis of order, gu yun, have never been afraid of death. you're ready for it to come for you on a battlefield - not in a tent on the side of the road, with your best friend wringing his hands right next to you. days pass, and your condition does not better - you're able to sit up and speak, tell shen yi that you're fine, and then, within hours, you can't keep down a bowl of gruel, and you've done nothing but drift between consciousness and misery, hallucinating from your fever. after a week, you're so thin your skin is nearly see through - and when the guard tries to bring you a meal, you turn your head away from it.
the guard looks like he's in tears. you can barely see him, your vision blurry; even like this, you try to give him a little smile as you shake your head. my throat is too sore. i can't swallow anything. your noodle soup is delicious, but i've thrown up so much, it hurts to eat.
(when animals are close to dying, they refuse to eat, too. it's not lost on you - maybe this is it.)
your thoughts are interrupted, though, by a sudden, cold metal being placed on your nose. it's a liuli glass, and your blurry, dark vision clears a little, enough that you can see shen yi at your bedside. the cold is so jarring that it forces you to try and gather your thoughts. you make a gesture in shen yi's direction, weakly. what's the matter.
shen yi stays where he is - the look on his face is complicated, before suddenly, it brightens. he reaches into the breast of his armor and pulls out a tube, holding a letter. "It's a reply from the capital."
for a moment, you aren't sure what to say. you stare at the letter in shen yi's hand - and you feel something rise in the back of your head, recognition. it's not just a letter from the capital. it's a letter from chang geng.
you take in a breath. it hurts. ] Get out. [ are the first words that rasp out of your mouth, in days.
shen yi looks at you, oddly - and then, you see the corner of his mouth lifting into a smile as he sets the tube of the letter at the foot of your bed. even a sick as a dog, you feel the urge to swat at him for it, and your second in command steps away, starting to leave, though he glances at you over his shoulder after four steps. - "Zixi, you..."
you respond by swatting the letter to the ground like a child, because you want him to leave, and shen yi sighs, going to see if he can find the doctor once more.
for a moment, you stare at the case holding the letter, rolling on the ground. half a month ago, you were looking forward to this letter - you'd left chang geng behind without saying goodbye, early in the morning on a mission. that child thinks so much, you think to yourself, as you slowly gather the memory of the letter you'd written chang geng, he must be very pained.
you start to go back to where you were laying, and pause, looking down at the back of your own hand, where the veins stick out green against your pale, pale skin. if you think about it, you can almost hear it.
"shiliu! take your medicine!" chang geng's voice rings through your heard, fourteen and exasperated, throwing his arms up in the air.
"...Don't move,", chang geng says, when you can't see straight, tenderness in his awkward touch, as he's bringing you breakfast because he's good, "Be careful not to burn yourself, it's hot."
"Yifu, you're the best person to me int he world." he says, and in your minds eye, you can picture him, fourteen years old, baby fat in his cheeks, brown, curly hair and a smile on his face, as rare as a diamond as you've presented him with an iron wristband that shoots darts, as he clutches it to his chest.
"I won't go, I have to practice my swordsmanship!" chang geng, complaining, as you pull him out to play, (he gets so red in the face, when he's huffy and mad at your teasing) "Who will take care of you in the future, if i don't learn well?!"
"Yifu, don't come in until you finish them." and, you remember, him standing there next to an iron puppet dressed in silks and rouge, quietly embarrassed, and giving it a pat on the side as the iron puppet holds out a bowl of longevity noodles, for your birthday, the day before you left, a tiny, silly action that made your house feel like home. you remember, the way that he watched you, trying to pretend he wasn't, when you slurped up the longevity noodles at the door, because it was bad luck to eat them before you went in - you remember, he cracked the eggs to go in the noodles, and your first bite was full of eggshells, and you ate every single bite of the noodles anyway.
your chest heaves, violently, and you grab onto the side of your cot, forcing your legs over the side to the floor, and push yourself to a standing position. your body's weak, too weak, and you can't hold yourself up for more than a second - the world goes dizzy and you slam into the ground, on your knees. there's a wind slasher within your line of sight - you reach out and grab it with your trembling hands, and use it as a crutch, to drag yourself across the floor and grab the letter that rolled halfway across the tent.
your hands are shaking so hard that you can't get the tube open. you hiss and swear and push yourself, miss the latch, miss it twice, grab it and finally force the latch open so the paper inside comes rolling out.
you put it on the ground in front of you, and you start to read. ]
no subject
the wind slasher drops out of your other, trembling hand in a loud, obnoxious clatter that rattles your ears. you remember the way you felt when the emperor died - when he left you behind, the last living piece of your family, gone. but
that wasn't the case, was it? this little boy who's life you saved, you - you are all he has left.
the clatter brings your men dashing into your tent with a clamor, terrified that you've died, but you feel more alive than you have in a week.
that night, when shen yi brings your noodles, you slurp down every bite, pained or not. you don't care, that you can smell your own blood. you eat, and you guzzle water, and you sink your claws into life, and you drag yourself back up to existence. it takes three days to get up and walk. you're back into your armor after five. two weeks, halfway to the northwestern border, you are yourself again. the fever that should have killed you fails to finish the job.
you fold the letter and keep it in your breast pocket.
you will not leave chang geng alone.
you will not die here. you refuse. not here. not now.
you have a home to get back to. ]
no subject
it resonates in a way that mineo can't quite bring words to at the moment, his heart aching at the memory. he's a bleeding heart, at the end of the day, no matter how he attempts to put people at a distance. he is friendly, and he gives without concern for himself, but he is always wary of an attack in return. he is always sure that someone will one day turn a blade on him.
but it doesn't matter in the face of something like this. in the face of such bold-faced humanity, he cannot and will not ever be able to remain steadfast or steely.]
.... I have a little sister. She's eleven years younger than me, so sometimes I feel like I actually raised her too. Since she was a baby. But I haven't gotten to see her in a while, even before I came here - I would send her pictures of me all the time just to make sure that she didn't forget my face. I was seriously worried.
[ . . . he knocks his knuckles against gu yun's shoulder. a light tap.]
When things get tough here, I remember I gotta get home. And I gotta see her again.
[a beat and then - ]
You want me to forget it?
[he will offer, in exchange for what gu yun agreed for him - but... he can't just forget without offering some words of his own.]
no subject
laughs weaklybut... he means the world to gu yun, even now. even if he's bad at saying it. even if he disappears for months at a time, because his country needs him, he's been trying to do his best for him, by him, because he loves him dearly, and gu yun knows what it means to be left behind.mineo's right. he does have to get home. for a moment, he idly wonders how chang geng would react, if he suddenly sent him an image of his face. he'd probably tear it into pieces, or shove it under his bed in embarrassment, both of which are kind of funny? something to consider doing when he goes back. even that just leaves him thinking a bit fondly, and the gentle tap of knuckles brings him back out of the soft fog of the memory itself. ]
That was my wish, wasn't it? [ from their first conversation. something that matters to him. gu yun's mouth is pulled up in a smile, but it lacks that confident, shitty air it usually has, for the topic at hand. it's a little wry. yifu, you're all that i have left. ] We'd been separated for some time; I was at the border for a year, so it took months after that letter for me to see him again. In fact, we'd only just reunited mere days before I arrived here, and I'm sure he's quite cross with me that I've gone and vanished once more. I'll hear an earful when I return, and I will do everything in my power to hear it.
[ which means he absolutely, positively, cannot die here. he will not die here.
some of gu yun's normal confidence returns, after that, but there's a genuine warmth to it, to the usual determination, to that usual easy twinkle to his eye. ] No - you don't have to forget. Though, if he happens to show up here out of the blue, I'd ask that you didn't tell him his yifu's so sentimental too easily.
[ this is a weakness, in its own right, but sickness is one that he overcame. there's only one secret gu yun has that he keeps unbelievably close to his chest - otherwise, there's no shame, as these memories bear his past for the world to see. he's got nothing here to hide. (except maybe the fact that he's got a secret soft heart under there but shhh.) ]