Song Lan struggles day to day in a world without his soulmate in it -- at least not truly in it. He keeps what's left of him on him at every moment. Each day he mediates and somedays it feels almost as if Xingchen is there beside him -- truly, as if he can hear his breath once more. He wants to whisper his name but he can't speak but he can see that the space beside him is still empty.
One day, he doesn't look. One day he lets himself believe Xingchen is alive beside him. He can hear his breath, sense the slightest of movements that would indicate that Xingchen has become restless with meditation and is ready for the next part of the day.
Song Lan keeps his eyes closed, thinking the words he can't say.
A few more minutes.
If he stops meditating then Xingchen will be gone.
Xingchen has been watching Song Lan ever since he took possession of the bag that contains his soul. It's been a constant struggle of grief, shame, and guilt seeing what has become of the man he adored. At least he's free of the monster who had been controlling him and for that, he needed time to simply rest and heal.
However, the past few weeks he's been feeling stronger and despite those raw emotions, his longing for the man without a voice has reached a point even the lines between the living and the dead are bending for him. He was a strong cultivator, after all. So far he's merely been a presence and hasn't quite had the power to be seen. He wonders if this is how ghosts get so angry from the powerlessness that he's been plagued with, particularly the last couple times Song Lan has meditated.
He would be panting from the effort this was taking if he still breathed, but as he sits lotus style across from his old companion, he waits in silence to be noticed. He's almost sure he's visible, at least mostly. Why won't Zichen look up? Has he failed yet again?
He puts his hands to his face as the frustration overwhelms him for a moment. (Who would've thought Xiao Xingchen could reach the end of his patience?) He lets out a quiet sob that he doesn't realize can actually be heard.
Zichen tries not to give into the urge to look. Every time that he looks he feels the crushing grief again, the guilt. After all, if he hadn't lashed out in anger at Xingchen... if he had found him quicker! None of this had to happen at all. How could he ever begin to make the world right again?
But there's a moment where it changes... a moment when the imagination of the other's breath of his presence is too real. When he hears him sob. He recognizes it instantly. His hands tighten at his knees for a brief moment -- cursing his mind for playing such a cruel trick.
But then he opens his eyes and he sees him. He can't speak to comfort him. But he's afraid to reach out and touch him for more than just the usual reasons -- what if he disappears? So instinctively his hand moves to the pouch he keeps with him and he shifts to move closer to Xingchen.
At first, Xingchen is too distracted by his emotions to notice he's finally getting his wish. His shoulders shake and tears drip down his cheeks. However, the instant the pouch is touched he startles, hands falling away, and one moves to his chest. There's still part of him in that bag and the touch tugs on that invisible tether connecting him.
He doesn't care though. With wide eyes he gapes at the man looking back at him. The way Song Lan is staring at him answers this question, but he can't help himself from asking anyway. "Zichen? Can you see me?"
Zichen stares at him wordlessly. Even if he could speak he might have been speechless. He reaches out his free hand hesitantly, almost reaching to touch Xingchen before drawing it back. He must be dreaming. This couldn't be real.
Still he gives an almost imperceptalbe nod as an answer.
Xiao Xingchen sees the hand being moved toward him and he starts to reach back, but he's too slow and misses his chance. His heart breaks a little, but he deserves nothing less. There isn't a limit to how little he deserves and he's very aware of how terribly wrong it is that he's even deigning to look or speak to this man he's hurt so gravely. He pulls his hand back and tucks it against his chest again.
"I'm sorry.. I know you don't like that." It feels silly to apologize for that slight when he has so much else to atone for. His gaze lowers and he shifts where he's sitting until he's on his knees. He bends and bows deeply, letting his forehead touch the earth. "I'm so sorry. I've been nothing but a curse on your life. Please, Zizhen, please.. just throw the bag and what remains of that wretched soul away."
Zichen doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to face the aching that wells up as he hears Xingchen's voice, hears the apology from his lips. There's nothing to apologize for in his mind -- not anymore not even if the other had touched him. He feels his throat tighten and the ache to cry but in his condition not only had words been taken from him but tears. Wanting to cry and being physically unable to is torture in it's own right.
As the other is bowing, apologizing again, Zichen reaches out, his fingers curling on the other's shoulders and trying to pull him back upright. How else can he tell him to stop?
Xingchen is solid under his fingers, proof that he is either indeed real or Song Lan has further lost his mind than he thought. The man in white looks up surprised when he feels the touch.
There isn't any resistance when Zichen draws him back up, not just because he'd follow the other man's guidance anywhere but because there is a distinct lack of strength to him. He sways a little unstable when he's on his knees again, as though finding his balance is more difficult than it should.
He stares again in disbelief at the beautiful face he has always loved. He bites his bottom lip as he feels more nervous now than he remembers ever feeling in life. What is he supposed to do or say? He trembles ever so slightly. He had such confidence and serenity in life and then he got everything so terribly wrong.
"I don't deserve this any more than I deserve to even be speaking to you, but I wish I knew what you were thinking. I know that's my fault that you have lost that ability." If he could take his own tongue and give it to the other man he would in an instant, but he can't. He's so utterly powerless.. he's worthless. Tears slip down his cheeks again as he regrets so many things.
Zichen aches to speak, to tell Xingchen what's on his mind. He doesn't want anymore sacrifices from the other, though. His anger had already taken too much. He reaches out since he can't speak, his hand moving from his shoulder to his cheek, touching skin? He shouldn't allow it and normally he wouldn't be able to stand it but the contact... Maybe this isn't even real anyway.
His thumb brushes at the other's tears. Could he feel what Song Lan felt? That longing and emptiness he felt without Xingchen. That he doesn't blame him.
Death had been a self-served justice, the only fate deserving of someone whose hands once held a sword that had tasted innocents' blood. Wasn't that fair? Wasn't that righteous? Couldn't those souls properly rest now that their murderer was dealt with? It is right. It is good. Perhaps it was not the standard execution of solving such a situation, but he is a cultivator. He has done his duty, to the end.
...But Xiao Xingchen did not think solely of his victims in those final moments. Death had been an escape. Trapped between the knowledge that the man he held most dear was dead by his hand, and the laughter of a madman drowning out his own thoughts. There had been nowhere else to go. There had been nothing else to do. What other choice did Xingchen ever have?
During his ministry upon the mortal earth, Xingchen wore white. Death had been his cloak, keeping him warm long enough until, finally, it could smother him.
But that was...recent? Long ago?
Xiao Xingchen no longer exists. He, himself, saw to that. Shuanghua's blade, the same that had cut too many lives apart, bit through his own neck. He doesn't remember how it felt. Did that sensation ever reach his mind? Probably not. There was no time, right?
Does it matter?
Xiao Xingchen no longer exists and that is how it should be. Spare the world from more of his own naivete that only drags others into his problems. He may have helped some people, but did his bloodied hands stain their interactions further down the line?
Was his master right all along?
Tortured, nebulous thoughts swim through the nothingness that is Xiao Xingchen. Time doesn't matter. Space doesn't matter. He doesn't matter.
And yet...despite the desire to not be, he sometimes...feels. Distant, but warm in its own way. A faint light, though he's not really seeing, not like he once did. It comforts, but it hurts. But it draws the nothingness that is him to it.
At some point, his fractured soul recognizes. In shards. In stabbing moments. A whiff of some far-off scent. A glimpse of a handsome face. An old echo of a grounding voice, long ago, when he could properly use it.
Zichen.
He's not alive, not really, and yet that presence lingers, never leaving Xingchen's side, as if keeping vigil. Why would he do that? After the deserved anger directed at Xingchen all those years ago, after Xingchen needlessly took what was left from him? Why does he stay?
But stay he does and Xingchen, truly broken and truly lost, longs to be in his physical presence one moment more. Not as nothing, but to simply see or hear him, to not touch, to never touch Zichen. To beg his forgiveness, though he deserves none of it. Xiao Xingchen doesn't want to exist anymore, but...he doesn't want to leave just yet. He gathers the broken pieces of himself as best as he can and breathes out, so weak, so quiet.
"Zichen..."
Not as a ghost, maybe not yet, but not as impossibly destroyed as he once was.
How could he not stay? Everything he had said and done when they parted had been a mistake, one that he had wanted desperately to correct and hadn't been able to do so. And all he could do now was carry his soulmate's soul and maybe find a way to heal it someday.
Zichen thinks he must be imagining things when he hears the quiet voice saying his name. He aches for it to be real and for some reason, he does open his eyes.
There's a faint hope that he'll see Xingchen there and his hand instinctively reaches out to touch.
Xingchen watches, takes in the moments between his own faint voice's echo and the desire on Zichen's face. He looks, sees his own eyes staring back at him, and he's never felt so naked or small.
But...Zichen is looking at him.
The realization causes his pieces to shudder - the pouch on Zichen's person undoubtedly stirs, too - and he looks into himself, at himself, and sees...
He's there. No thicker than a veil of delicate lace, but...he's there, kneeling next to his dearest friend, the man he never wanted to hurt and yet the one whose life he ruined most. And Zichen reaches for him. Like none of it ever happened.
It's too much for Xingchen. A sob tears through him and for a moment he flickers in and out, though he remains. The grief, though, weighs on him so literally, and he makes to lie down on his side. He can't bear to be on the same level as Zichen. He doesn't deserve it. Let the dirt claim him, like this.
And yet, he can't seem to stay entirely silent. "Zichen," he whispers again. "I'm...so sorry."
Zichen's other hand goes to the pouch, feeling the stirring there as well. This is all so unusual, something that didn't seem like it should be possible. He stops shorting of touching Xingchen. For a myriad of reason not the least his own fears and guilt but the sincere worry that if he actually tries to touch this vision of Xingchen he will be gone again.
However, something breaks when he sees him lay down, when he sobs. He can't take it.
"No," Zichen says and his hands go to try and pull the other back up.
From his new place on the ground, all Xingchen can really see of Zichen is his knees. How he longs to continue looking at his face, strangely familiar eyes or no, but he doesn't deserve to let his own senses linger. So he lies there, unmoving except for how his unreal body shakes with his despair.
And then strong hands reach toward him and Xingchen curls up into a ball, though he doesn't try to pull away or push his old friend away. He just watches, amazed, and chokes out, "Why?"
Perhaps Zichen could pull this form of his up and destroy him once and for all. Xingchen wouldn't blame him for freeing himself of such a worthless weight. He won't, though. Xingchen knows him better than that, knows that Zichen wouldn't hurt someone needlessly, even if he thinks he deserves anything done to him. But, still. He doesn't move away. Instead, he forces out more words. "I...I ruined everything."
Zichen doesn't let the other stay down, he shakes his head as he tries to look him in t he eyes. So many emotions fill him. His fingers are trembling when one hand moves to touch the other's cheek, cupping his face.
He shakes his head again at the idea that the other tries to say he ruined everything. No. No.
He shifts closer, he wants to hold Xingchen like he never had when they were alive but he can't. He is sure the other will disappear. And he can't express it all, how much he's missed him, loves him. How much he is so sorry for what he had done, for pushing Xingchen away and not finding him again in time.
"I did." The word is heaved out as Zichen's hand rests upon his cheek. The kindness in that gesture, the gentleness, is too much. It's almost as if Zichen forgives him. How ridiculous. No matter how close they may have once been, Xingchen's sins are simply too heinous.
He doesn't deserve any of this. But being near Zichen is all he's wanted and even though they can't possibly go back to how things were before, he wants to be in his presence. Just for a moment. One selfish moment.
And if he can explain himself, maybe he'll be able to rest entirely, not hang on by a single fragment like this. "If it weren't for me, none of this would have happened. You'd still have your family at the temple. You would..."
Another sob hits him, thus one fact tearing at what's left of him with such ferocity. The one thing that destroyed any tether to his mortal life. Because how could he possibly keep living after...after...!
Under Zichen's touch he starts to wither, starts to curl so harshly into himself. His voice has weakened, too, hardly breaching a whisper. "You'd still be alive."
Song Lan wishes nothing more that he could speak and he could adamantly say that the other did not. But all he can do is shake his head and continue to touch the other's cheek. He struggles with the touch a little but the other is real and he had missed him too much that it overcomes the fear.
He aches to see his soulmate hurt like this and knowing he can really do nothing to help. He can't say the words that need to be said. He tries to stop him from curling in on himself, moving closer though still afraid that the other would disappear, that he would find he is dreaming or hallucinating.
He pulls him against him, wrapping his arms around him.
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OTA to any Xingchen okay with multiple threads!
One day, he doesn't look. One day he lets himself believe Xingchen is alive beside him. He can hear his breath, sense the slightest of movements that would indicate that Xingchen has become restless with meditation and is ready for the next part of the day.
Song Lan keeps his eyes closed, thinking the words he can't say.
A few more minutes.
If he stops meditating then Xingchen will be gone.
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However, the past few weeks he's been feeling stronger and despite those raw emotions, his longing for the man without a voice has reached a point even the lines between the living and the dead are bending for him. He was a strong cultivator, after all. So far he's merely been a presence and hasn't quite had the power to be seen. He wonders if this is how ghosts get so angry from the powerlessness that he's been plagued with, particularly the last couple times Song Lan has meditated.
He would be panting from the effort this was taking if he still breathed, but as he sits lotus style across from his old companion, he waits in silence to be noticed. He's almost sure he's visible, at least mostly. Why won't Zichen look up? Has he failed yet again?
He puts his hands to his face as the frustration overwhelms him for a moment. (Who would've thought Xiao Xingchen could reach the end of his patience?) He lets out a quiet sob that he doesn't realize can actually be heard.
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But there's a moment where it changes... a moment when the imagination of the other's breath of his presence is too real. When he hears him sob. He recognizes it instantly. His hands tighten at his knees for a brief moment -- cursing his mind for playing such a cruel trick.
But then he opens his eyes and he sees him. He can't speak to comfort him. But he's afraid to reach out and touch him for more than just the usual reasons -- what if he disappears? So instinctively his hand moves to the pouch he keeps with him and he shifts to move closer to Xingchen.
He can't be real.
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He doesn't care though. With wide eyes he gapes at the man looking back at him. The way Song Lan is staring at him answers this question, but he can't help himself from asking anyway. "Zichen? Can you see me?"
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Still he gives an almost imperceptalbe nod as an answer.
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"I'm sorry.. I know you don't like that." It feels silly to apologize for that slight when he has so much else to atone for. His gaze lowers and he shifts where he's sitting until he's on his knees. He bends and bows deeply, letting his forehead touch the earth. "I'm so sorry. I've been nothing but a curse on your life. Please, Zizhen, please.. just throw the bag and what remains of that wretched soul away."
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As the other is bowing, apologizing again, Zichen reaches out, his fingers curling on the other's shoulders and trying to pull him back upright. How else can he tell him to stop?
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There isn't any resistance when Zichen draws him back up, not just because he'd follow the other man's guidance anywhere but because there is a distinct lack of strength to him. He sways a little unstable when he's on his knees again, as though finding his balance is more difficult than it should.
He stares again in disbelief at the beautiful face he has always loved. He bites his bottom lip as he feels more nervous now than he remembers ever feeling in life. What is he supposed to do or say? He trembles ever so slightly. He had such confidence and serenity in life and then he got everything so terribly wrong.
"I don't deserve this any more than I deserve to even be speaking to you, but I wish I knew what you were thinking. I know that's my fault that you have lost that ability." If he could take his own tongue and give it to the other man he would in an instant, but he can't. He's so utterly powerless.. he's worthless. Tears slip down his cheeks again as he regrets so many things.
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His thumb brushes at the other's tears. Could he feel what Song Lan felt? That longing and emptiness he felt without Xingchen. That he doesn't blame him.
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...But Xiao Xingchen did not think solely of his victims in those final moments. Death had been an escape. Trapped between the knowledge that the man he held most dear was dead by his hand, and the laughter of a madman drowning out his own thoughts. There had been nowhere else to go. There had been nothing else to do. What other choice did Xingchen ever have?
During his ministry upon the mortal earth, Xingchen wore white. Death had been his cloak, keeping him warm long enough until, finally, it could smother him.
But that was...recent? Long ago?
Xiao Xingchen no longer exists. He, himself, saw to that. Shuanghua's blade, the same that had cut too many lives apart, bit through his own neck. He doesn't remember how it felt. Did that sensation ever reach his mind? Probably not. There was no time, right?
Does it matter?
Xiao Xingchen no longer exists and that is how it should be. Spare the world from more of his own naivete that only drags others into his problems. He may have helped some people, but did his bloodied hands stain their interactions further down the line?
Was his master right all along?
Tortured, nebulous thoughts swim through the nothingness that is Xiao Xingchen. Time doesn't matter. Space doesn't matter. He doesn't matter.
And yet...despite the desire to not be, he sometimes...feels. Distant, but warm in its own way. A faint light, though he's not really seeing, not like he once did. It comforts, but it hurts. But it draws the nothingness that is him to it.
At some point, his fractured soul recognizes. In shards. In stabbing moments. A whiff of some far-off scent. A glimpse of a handsome face. An old echo of a grounding voice, long ago, when he could properly use it.
Zichen.
He's not alive, not really, and yet that presence lingers, never leaving Xingchen's side, as if keeping vigil. Why would he do that? After the deserved anger directed at Xingchen all those years ago, after Xingchen needlessly took what was left from him? Why does he stay?
But stay he does and Xingchen, truly broken and truly lost, longs to be in his physical presence one moment more. Not as nothing, but to simply see or hear him, to not touch, to never touch Zichen. To beg his forgiveness, though he deserves none of it. Xiao Xingchen doesn't want to exist anymore, but...he doesn't want to leave just yet. He gathers the broken pieces of himself as best as he can and breathes out, so weak, so quiet.
"Zichen..."
Not as a ghost, maybe not yet, but not as impossibly destroyed as he once was.
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Zichen thinks he must be imagining things when he hears the quiet voice saying his name. He aches for it to be real and for some reason, he does open his eyes.
There's a faint hope that he'll see Xingchen there and his hand instinctively reaches out to touch.
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But...Zichen is looking at him.
The realization causes his pieces to shudder - the pouch on Zichen's person undoubtedly stirs, too - and he looks into himself, at himself, and sees...
He's there. No thicker than a veil of delicate lace, but...he's there, kneeling next to his dearest friend, the man he never wanted to hurt and yet the one whose life he ruined most. And Zichen reaches for him. Like none of it ever happened.
It's too much for Xingchen. A sob tears through him and for a moment he flickers in and out, though he remains. The grief, though, weighs on him so literally, and he makes to lie down on his side. He can't bear to be on the same level as Zichen. He doesn't deserve it. Let the dirt claim him, like this.
And yet, he can't seem to stay entirely silent. "Zichen," he whispers again. "I'm...so sorry."
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However, something breaks when he sees him lay down, when he sobs. He can't take it.
"No," Zichen says and his hands go to try and pull the other back up.
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And then strong hands reach toward him and Xingchen curls up into a ball, though he doesn't try to pull away or push his old friend away. He just watches, amazed, and chokes out, "Why?"
Perhaps Zichen could pull this form of his up and destroy him once and for all. Xingchen wouldn't blame him for freeing himself of such a worthless weight. He won't, though. Xingchen knows him better than that, knows that Zichen wouldn't hurt someone needlessly, even if he thinks he deserves anything done to him. But, still. He doesn't move away. Instead, he forces out more words. "I...I ruined everything."
AYY ME FORGETTING HE CANT TALK N THE LAST TAG RIP
He shakes his head again at the idea that the other tries to say he ruined everything. No. No.
He shifts closer, he wants to hold Xingchen like he never had when they were alive but he can't. He is sure the other will disappear. And he can't express it all, how much he's missed him, loves him. How much he is so sorry for what he had done, for pushing Xingchen away and not finding him again in time.
AYYY YOU'RE STILL VALID BOO
He doesn't deserve any of this. But being near Zichen is all he's wanted and even though they can't possibly go back to how things were before, he wants to be in his presence. Just for a moment. One selfish moment.
And if he can explain himself, maybe he'll be able to rest entirely, not hang on by a single fragment like this. "If it weren't for me, none of this would have happened. You'd still have your family at the temple. You would..."
Another sob hits him, thus one fact tearing at what's left of him with such ferocity. The one thing that destroyed any tether to his mortal life. Because how could he possibly keep living after...after...!
Under Zichen's touch he starts to wither, starts to curl so harshly into himself. His voice has weakened, too, hardly breaching a whisper. "You'd still be alive."
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He aches to see his soulmate hurt like this and knowing he can really do nothing to help. He can't say the words that need to be said. He tries to stop him from curling in on himself, moving closer though still afraid that the other would disappear, that he would find he is dreaming or hallucinating.
He pulls him against him, wrapping his arms around him.