[ This is not the kind of thing that Jiang Cheng is capable of handling, not particularly well; he was never raised in a way that made himself capable to share what he is thinking or feeling. It comes out harshly, brashly, dangerously, a snap of his tongue before he can stop himself from saying something too cruel or harsh. It has been too long since there had been anyone capable of understanding him - since his sister had died, since his brother had died.
He hates crying like this. He hates weeping, showing his grief, he loathes how it makes him feel, and the sourness overtakes him before he can do anything to stop it.
When arms wrap around him, Jiang Cheng tenses, not sure what to do. When was the last time he was properly embraced? When was the last time he held anyone, hugged anyone? Anyone other than a-Ling? No one gets close enough, no one wanted to try, to hold him, to comfort him, to do anything - and he breathes out, shaking a little as his arms hang stiffly at his side.
How does he even do this? What can he say?
Instead of holding his brother back, he sinks into him, not able to do much more than tumble into his sadness and hope his brother won't let go again. ]
no subject
He hates crying like this. He hates weeping, showing his grief, he loathes how it makes him feel, and the sourness overtakes him before he can do anything to stop it.
When arms wrap around him, Jiang Cheng tenses, not sure what to do. When was the last time he was properly embraced? When was the last time he held anyone, hugged anyone? Anyone other than a-Ling? No one gets close enough, no one wanted to try, to hold him, to comfort him, to do anything - and he breathes out, shaking a little as his arms hang stiffly at his side.
How does he even do this? What can he say?
Instead of holding his brother back, he sinks into him, not able to do much more than tumble into his sadness and hope his brother won't let go again. ]