"No," firmer this time, still desperate. It is strange, Xichen thinks, that this is an inevitability he cannot accept when his mind has accepted so many others. The inevitability of that Nie Mingjue's cultivation practice will eventually lead to ruin that can only be delayed, that while his brother's wounds may heal they will never truly close.
This feels different.
"We have not tried all versions of Clarity to ease this," he offers, desperate still. It is that desperation the distracts him from his own discomfort, from the tightness in his throat. He is coughing up bloodied petals before he realizes it and it is reflex that lifts his hand to cover his mouth, to catch the bloodied mass to stop it from joining the droplets of blood that stain the ground between them and the white silk of his robes.
"We have tried enough to know that it won't work!"
Jiang Cheng sits up a little, the sharpness of his tone attracting the attention of his nephew and playmate. He forces himself to breathe, offering them a wave to calm them down, before he speaks again, voice just as terse but a little hushed.
Just to be safe.
"Why can't you let me accept my death with grace?"
It could, Xichen thinks but cannot force out of his throat. Each breath he takes is harder, the petals coughed up thicker. There is a barely handful, he knows but this morning it had not been this bad.
The thought of losing Wanyin, of his death, has accelerated this and he still has no answers for the true cause, why it reacts so strongly as his feelings bloom.
There's irony in that.
"I--" he swallows down the lump in his throat, drops a shaky fist to rest on his knees. There's so much red and yet he can't focus on it, the sting of Jiang Wanyin's words is sharper than that pain. "I cannot accept your death."
The wave seems not to have done much to placate a-Yuan, who wanders over with Jin Ling in his arms. "Is Uncle sick with flowers again?" And Xichen had not wanted that, coughs again, panics. This is a burden he did not want to add to Wanyin's shoulders.
Jiang Cheng can't drag his eyes away from Xichen's face, from looking at him, panicked by the reaction of his friend and the man he loves. He doesn't know what to do to fix this, but he shifts forward and reaches out all the same.
"Zewu-jun -- Sect Leader Lan, what -" he hesitates, eyes widening as little a-Yuan wanders over, carrying his nephew. He has the immediate instinct to reach over and drag Jin Ling onto his lap, but his hands are shaking too much to be of any use right now. All he can do is breathe shakily.
Is Uncle sick with flowers - Jiang Cheng stops breathing. His own throat feels too tight, agonised as he tries to swallow it all back, to smother himself. The notion that Lan Xichen is, too, in love with someone he can never have... The only name that comes to mind is the obvious, and Jiang Cheng has to turn away, almost throwing up his own set of bright blue flowers, tinged with white around the edges and red from his blood.
He can't help himself as he begins to cry.
"Young Master Lan, please - take a-Ling back to the rabbits -"
What follows his nephews words is nearly a blur. Xichen coughs again, shaking his head slightly but neither his nephew nor Wanyin seems convinced.
He raises a hand to reach back as the other man does but then another cough overtakes him, the world nearly spins. Wanyin is asking a-Yuan to leave with Jin Ling before he knows it. It takes a moment for Xichen's brain to catch up before he nods along, giving his nephew an assuring look. "We will be alright, a-Yuan--- do as you've been asked, alright? The rabbits need you more than we do."
Which doesn't seem to convince the young boy, who watches them with hesitation before nodding. He glances back over his shoulder as he carries a squirming Jin Ling in his arms. "No more lotuses, uncle..."
Which feels like another stab in Xichen's chest, because the boy keeps walking and does not realize the burden he has placed on shoulders that are not his own. Xichen's attention, at least, for the moment turns back to Jiang Wanyin, to the man turned away from him. It feels like he is overstepping as he tentatively touches his shoulder, a gentle touch. "Wanyin-- I-- Wanyin, please. Are you alright?"
Lifting a hand to brush tears from his face is almost impossible, Jiang Cheng trying to shove the emotions away even as he finds himself almost painfully weak in the process. He doesn't want to fall apart in front of the subject of his affections but he finds himself completely unable to swallow it back, unable to do anything but give into the thorns and flowers that have been such a danger for so long.
The children must be aware that there's little of him left, that he doesn't have the strength to fight for much longer, but what else can he do? He can't keep fighting and he doesn't have the courage to stand up and say what he feels - not for someone like Lan Xichen, who is beyond anything he could ever dare to hope for.
It shouldn't surprise him that a simple touch to his shoulder has him choking, but there's nothing he can do about it other than try and breathe through the pain and the hurt, his hands shaking. There's no cure other than saying his emotions aloud, surely, and the idea of doing that...
Grief is the only thing he can picture, rejection tearing his heart to pieces.
"I can't - breathe -" He shakes his head. "Please..."
Decorum and tact would dictate that Xichen remains close but does not breach more boundaries. That is far behind him now, his own panic building as Wanyin seems worse by the moment.
He tries to take another deep breath of his own, chest aching with vines and petals; just as the thought of losing this man tears through him. His fingers tighten on the fabric of Jiang Wanyin's robe and then release it, he draws his hand back but keeps close still as if it'll help him somehow. "Tell me what I can do to ease this," the panic remains, overwhelming and letting words spill from his lips that are too bold, too selfish and not delicately calculated in the way that Zewu Jun normally speaks but in this moment that man is not the one sitting behind his friend, his companion. "Am I making this worse? Wanyin-- I do not wish to lose you."
His voice comes out harsh, as a brutal snap, as his hands shake and his voice gets more and more hoarse. He cannot register the fear in Lan Xichen's voice, the way he speaks or how he reaches for him, so lost in his own grief and the threat of his own death. Instead the only thing he can do is try to steal himself away, lifting a hand to touch his throat, breathing shakily.
It's never going to be okay, nor will it be enough, but he has to live with that until he no longer can.
"Please, just let me take a moment, I - this will pass. And promise."
The snap rattles him more than he expects it to, Xichen tenses but does not move away to put great distance between them. If it is meant to push him away, for the moment, it does not. He stays close, sure the answer is that he is not helping but for the moment unable to move.
"I-- I'm sorry. Alright." Simple, a soft word and there's fear in his voice but he does not press now, giving Wanyin a moment to gather himself as he watches him with worry in his eyes.
How much does the other know about this disease, this affliction that is spreading to them both? He wants to press, to know, but not when the other man is still gasping for air. "I only wish to make this right -- To make sure you're alright."
There's a part of him that feels immediately guilty as he watches Xichen tense, watches the emotion settle on his features, but he can't feel more than that. He's too tired, too filled with guilt, pained - because his throat is being ripped to shreds and he has neither the confidence nor the courage to do anything about it.
"No, I... I apologise." He turns his head, gazing outwards at the children. He wishes he could just pick a-Ling up and take him home, wishes he could do something to make all of this go away, but he can't. He just wants to make it better.
So he breathes out, trying not to cough.
"I understand. And I appreciate your concern. I simply... Cannot." He wipes his face absently.
"Cannot?" And that's a strange way to put it, Xichen thinks. His brows remained furrowed, lips pulled downward into a frown.
"What do you have to be sorry for, Wanyin? I am the one unable to help." And all he wishes is that he could, was able to do something more than sit helpless at the side of a man slipping away.
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no subject
This feels different.
"We have not tried all versions of Clarity to ease this," he offers, desperate still. It is that desperation the distracts him from his own discomfort, from the tightness in his throat. He is coughing up bloodied petals before he realizes it and it is reflex that lifts his hand to cover his mouth, to catch the bloodied mass to stop it from joining the droplets of blood that stain the ground between them and the white silk of his robes.
no subject
Jiang Cheng sits up a little, the sharpness of his tone attracting the attention of his nephew and playmate. He forces himself to breathe, offering them a wave to calm them down, before he speaks again, voice just as terse but a little hushed.
Just to be safe.
"Why can't you let me accept my death with grace?"
no subject
The thought of losing Wanyin, of his death, has accelerated this and he still has no answers for the true cause, why it reacts so strongly as his feelings bloom.
There's irony in that.
"I--" he swallows down the lump in his throat, drops a shaky fist to rest on his knees. There's so much red and yet he can't focus on it, the sting of Jiang Wanyin's words is sharper than that pain. "I cannot accept your death."
The wave seems not to have done much to placate a-Yuan, who wanders over with Jin Ling in his arms. "Is Uncle sick with flowers again?" And Xichen had not wanted that, coughs again, panics. This is a burden he did not want to add to Wanyin's shoulders.
no subject
"Zewu-jun -- Sect Leader Lan, what -" he hesitates, eyes widening as little a-Yuan wanders over, carrying his nephew. He has the immediate instinct to reach over and drag Jin Ling onto his lap, but his hands are shaking too much to be of any use right now. All he can do is breathe shakily.
Is Uncle sick with flowers - Jiang Cheng stops breathing. His own throat feels too tight, agonised as he tries to swallow it all back, to smother himself. The notion that Lan Xichen is, too, in love with someone he can never have... The only name that comes to mind is the obvious, and Jiang Cheng has to turn away, almost throwing up his own set of bright blue flowers, tinged with white around the edges and red from his blood.
He can't help himself as he begins to cry.
"Young Master Lan, please - take a-Ling back to the rabbits -"
no subject
He raises a hand to reach back as the other man does but then another cough overtakes him, the world nearly spins. Wanyin is asking a-Yuan to leave with Jin Ling before he knows it. It takes a moment for Xichen's brain to catch up before he nods along, giving his nephew an assuring look. "We will be alright, a-Yuan--- do as you've been asked, alright? The rabbits need you more than we do."
Which doesn't seem to convince the young boy, who watches them with hesitation before nodding. He glances back over his shoulder as he carries a squirming Jin Ling in his arms. "No more lotuses, uncle..."
Which feels like another stab in Xichen's chest, because the boy keeps walking and does not realize the burden he has placed on shoulders that are not his own. Xichen's attention, at least, for the moment turns back to Jiang Wanyin, to the man turned away from him. It feels like he is overstepping as he tentatively touches his shoulder, a gentle touch. "Wanyin-- I-- Wanyin, please. Are you alright?"
no subject
The children must be aware that there's little of him left, that he doesn't have the strength to fight for much longer, but what else can he do? He can't keep fighting and he doesn't have the courage to stand up and say what he feels - not for someone like Lan Xichen, who is beyond anything he could ever dare to hope for.
It shouldn't surprise him that a simple touch to his shoulder has him choking, but there's nothing he can do about it other than try and breathe through the pain and the hurt, his hands shaking. There's no cure other than saying his emotions aloud, surely, and the idea of doing that...
Grief is the only thing he can picture, rejection tearing his heart to pieces.
"I can't - breathe -" He shakes his head. "Please..."
no subject
He tries to take another deep breath of his own, chest aching with vines and petals; just as the thought of losing this man tears through him. His fingers tighten on the fabric of Jiang Wanyin's robe and then release it, he draws his hand back but keeps close still as if it'll help him somehow. "Tell me what I can do to ease this," the panic remains, overwhelming and letting words spill from his lips that are too bold, too selfish and not delicately calculated in the way that Zewu Jun normally speaks but in this moment that man is not the one sitting behind his friend, his companion. "Am I making this worse? Wanyin-- I do not wish to lose you."
no subject
His voice comes out harsh, as a brutal snap, as his hands shake and his voice gets more and more hoarse. He cannot register the fear in Lan Xichen's voice, the way he speaks or how he reaches for him, so lost in his own grief and the threat of his own death. Instead the only thing he can do is try to steal himself away, lifting a hand to touch his throat, breathing shakily.
It's never going to be okay, nor will it be enough, but he has to live with that until he no longer can.
"Please, just let me take a moment, I - this will pass. And promise."
no subject
"I-- I'm sorry. Alright." Simple, a soft word and there's fear in his voice but he does not press now, giving Wanyin a moment to gather himself as he watches him with worry in his eyes.
How much does the other know about this disease, this affliction that is spreading to them both? He wants to press, to know, but not when the other man is still gasping for air. "I only wish to make this right -- To make sure you're alright."
no subject
"No, I... I apologise." He turns his head, gazing outwards at the children. He wishes he could just pick a-Ling up and take him home, wishes he could do something to make all of this go away, but he can't. He just wants to make it better.
So he breathes out, trying not to cough.
"I understand. And I appreciate your concern. I simply... Cannot." He wipes his face absently.
no subject
"What do you have to be sorry for, Wanyin? I am the one unable to help." And all he wishes is that he could, was able to do something more than sit helpless at the side of a man slipping away.