[ The last week for Song Lan felt like an endless punishment, the pain he had been due for three years without paying it. Or, well, his heart paid it daily, seeping blood a slow trickle, a wound that never healed but never killed him.
Until now.
Now, his soulmate and his dog tore that wound freshly open daily. Now he hemorrhaged every waking moment, the solace of revenge forbidden from his grasp. He waits, moment by moment, for Xue Yang to pull his sword and slit Xiao Xingchen's throat. For him to take the last Song Lan has been left to love, and sacrifice it on the alter of his mistakes.
He sits murderous, terrified, and hopeless - convinced he's being forced to watch a prolonged execution. He tells himself he'll stop Xue Yang. He tells himself that at the moment Xue Yang shows his true colours, he will break one more vow to Xiao Xingchen and leave Xue Yang's corpse at his feet.
He's broken every other.
But it doesn't come. Song Lan barely sleeps for vigilance, eyes like a hawk save when Xiao Xingchen is safe away from Xue Yang. He catches his sleep in fits and starts, an hour here, two there, and he berates himself for his negligence when he wakes to Xiao Xingchen's laughter. It breaks his heart, every time, to see the way the smile pulls up Xingchen's lips, to hear him break into helpless titters. He waits for Xue Yang's sword and yet all he witnesses is the man's caress.
It's enough to drive him mad.
He sits across the fire and glowers at Xue Yang - his daggers only ever meant for him. Xiao Xingchen... blessed, naive, warm, perfect Xingchen... he could never fault him for the hard candy that cuts his lips.
It's his fault alone that has led to this.
He sits with his sword resting against his chest, one hand loose around the scabbard. But as he watches Xue Yang slide into Xingchen's lap his grip tightens, his knuckles turning white, his breath catching fast in his chest. He's glad Xingchen can't see him, glad the man doesn't have to witness what regret and guilt and jealousy have turned him into. Because it's jealousy he's feeling now, watching Xue Yang stretch in Xingchen's lap like a cat claiming its territory. Watching that hand brush up Xingchen's thigh like he owned it. Jealousy and a deep, terrible desire that feels almost more jagged. It's that which will destroy him, he thinks.
It's that which he has to protect Xingchen from the most. ]
I am not cold. [ His voice is tight, but he tries to moderate it. He always does, near Xiao Xingchen. When him and Xue Yang are alone he doesn't bother to cut the scowl out of his voice or pull the sneer from his lips. But Xiao Xingchen's heart is too broad and to pure.
Song Lan has wounded it far too many times before to want to do so now. ]
I am comfortable where I am. [ He looked straight at Xue Yang. ] I've no desire to be burned, now.
no subject
Until now.
Now, his soulmate and his dog tore that wound freshly open daily. Now he hemorrhaged every waking moment, the solace of revenge forbidden from his grasp. He waits, moment by moment, for Xue Yang to pull his sword and slit Xiao Xingchen's throat. For him to take the last Song Lan has been left to love, and sacrifice it on the alter of his mistakes.
He sits murderous, terrified, and hopeless - convinced he's being forced to watch a prolonged execution. He tells himself he'll stop Xue Yang. He tells himself that at the moment Xue Yang shows his true colours, he will break one more vow to Xiao Xingchen and leave Xue Yang's corpse at his feet.
He's broken every other.
But it doesn't come. Song Lan barely sleeps for vigilance, eyes like a hawk save when Xiao Xingchen is safe away from Xue Yang. He catches his sleep in fits and starts, an hour here, two there, and he berates himself for his negligence when he wakes to Xiao Xingchen's laughter. It breaks his heart, every time, to see the way the smile pulls up Xingchen's lips, to hear him break into helpless titters. He waits for Xue Yang's sword and yet all he witnesses is the man's caress.
It's enough to drive him mad.
He sits across the fire and glowers at Xue Yang - his daggers only ever meant for him. Xiao Xingchen... blessed, naive, warm, perfect Xingchen... he could never fault him for the hard candy that cuts his lips.
It's his fault alone that has led to this.
He sits with his sword resting against his chest, one hand loose around the scabbard. But as he watches Xue Yang slide into Xingchen's lap his grip tightens, his knuckles turning white, his breath catching fast in his chest. He's glad Xingchen can't see him, glad the man doesn't have to witness what regret and guilt and jealousy have turned him into. Because it's jealousy he's feeling now, watching Xue Yang stretch in Xingchen's lap like a cat claiming its territory. Watching that hand brush up Xingchen's thigh like he owned it. Jealousy and a deep, terrible desire that feels almost more jagged. It's that which will destroy him, he thinks.
It's that which he has to protect Xingchen from the most. ]
I am not cold. [ His voice is tight, but he tries to moderate it. He always does, near Xiao Xingchen. When him and Xue Yang are alone he doesn't bother to cut the scowl out of his voice or pull the sneer from his lips. But Xiao Xingchen's heart is too broad and to pure.
Song Lan has wounded it far too many times before to want to do so now. ]
I am comfortable where I am. [ He looked straight at Xue Yang. ] I've no desire to be burned, now.