[he always makes sure that he's awake and gone before xue yang wakes up, otherwise he might not get to leave at all. his boyfriend is...needy. protective. xiao xingchen finds it cute and humorous. so many things that xue yang says and does makes him laugh fondly.
he's not aware that the neighbors are highkey terrified of him. or that the girl that he tutors refuses to come when she knows xue yang is around. and then there's his friends, though xiao is aware that they were really rooting for him and song lan. (song lan who still tries to call sometimes, but gets mysterious blocked at every turn.)
he leaves a couple of candy kisses on the pillow beside xue yang's head, smiling at the way he drools and hisses like a feral kitty while he sleeps. xiao pulls on a fluffy white sweater and heads out. it's that time of year, the time when there's always meals to cook and deliver, protests to attend, recycling to...recycle. xiao xingchen wants to leave the world a much better place than it was when he was born.
it's nearly dark by the time he's finished, and while he's responded to all of the text messages that xue yang sent, he hasn't listened to any of the twelve voicemails. he smiles and shakes his head, skipping them to just call him directly instead.]
I'm coming home. Would you like Thai for dinner? Or we could make curry, those potatoes will go bad in a few days.
[he's so calm. but one force of nature in this relationship is enough.]
[Xiao Xingchen always seems to draw the short stick in the past few months. He doesn't mind, no. In fact, much the opposite. Going out insures him that he can still work in the world, still bring about change and help others, even if they take advantage of him. A couple merchants take advantage, yes, but one day Xingchen's kindness will affect them, change them. Not today, but some day. This give and take, this walk down from the Coffin House has grown familiar enough to be comfortable and pleasant. The change in the flow of the breeze indicates when to turn, to pass the stone marking his new home.
On his way back up the path to the Coffin House, however, the breeze brings something else with it: the scent of blood.
No.
His deliberate, slow steps speed up as his legs carry him through the gates. He doesn't wait to call out to his companions; if a threat appears it should do so in front of him.]
A-Qing! [The kind stranger he saved has yet to give him his name and Xingchen never required one until now. The thought only increases the newly-set blaze of fear in his chest.] A-Qing! Little Blind!
[He pauses to listen and the sounds of labored breathing lead him up to the Coffin House itself. Here, the stench of blood nearly overpowers, stains his senses and drives his need to protect.]
A-Qing! [Where is she? Is this her blood soaking into the dust? Will he find her corpse already cool to the touch? And what of the stranger? Was he close? Was he alive?
Xingchen followed the sounds of the heavy breathing, searching hands finding knees in the darkness. Heavy, textured fabrics. The stranger. The friend. The waft of blood stains him too. No time. His fingers search urgently for a wound, for something to bandage and heal and press closed.] You are hurt.
Whispers follow him in the market, especially when he walks alone. He's volunteered this time, no drawing of straws, to collect sweets for Qing and their friend. Both have such an insatiable sweet tooth and find such joy in small gifts, that Xingchen can hardly help himself. The words of strangers do not bother him; he gave his eyes to someone who needed them more than him. This blindness can be survived. In a world full of such darkness, he can still provide a light without his eyes.
He counts steps to the first produce merchant, but instead of dealing with him as usual, the merchant refuses. The wood of the shop table creaks and then something wet hits Xingchen's face.
Get out! Go!
Did- Did someone spit on him? Xingchen steps back first, fingers rising to his cheeks. Warm. Viscous. No metallic stench. The dregs of a meal. Liquor.
Spit. Someone spit on him. How unpleasant. But hate can never be conquered with more hate, darkness with more dark. Instead, Xiao Xingchen bows, turns back toward Yi City without completing the errand at hand. Halfway back, he comes across someone else. The last thing he wants is to be spit on again, to stink of another man's meat and wine, so he steps to the far side of the road, but the person steps in front of him, blocks his path.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
he's not aware that the neighbors are highkey terrified of him. or that the girl that he tutors refuses to come when she knows xue yang is around. and then there's his friends, though xiao is aware that they were really rooting for him and song lan. (song lan who still tries to call sometimes, but gets mysterious blocked at every turn.)
he leaves a couple of candy kisses on the pillow beside xue yang's head, smiling at the way he drools and hisses like a feral kitty while he sleeps. xiao pulls on a fluffy white sweater and heads out. it's that time of year, the time when there's always meals to cook and deliver, protests to attend, recycling to...recycle. xiao xingchen wants to leave the world a much better place than it was when he was born.
it's nearly dark by the time he's finished, and while he's responded to all of the text messages that xue yang sent, he hasn't listened to any of the twelve voicemails. he smiles and shakes his head, skipping them to just call him directly instead.]
I'm coming home. Would you like Thai for dinner? Or we could make curry, those potatoes will go bad in a few days.
[he's so calm. but one force of nature in this relationship is enough.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
responds to this years later.
not going anywhere
SCOOPS U UP AND RUNS AWAY WITH
I'M STILL MAD
why. what have u to be mad at. really. wow : D also how dare u with that coffin line wow
you know what you did!
:ANGELIC FACE:
squints
:GETS MORE ANGELIC:
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
au where xxc gets groceries that day
On his way back up the path to the Coffin House, however, the breeze brings something else with it: the scent of blood.
No.
His deliberate, slow steps speed up as his legs carry him through the gates. He doesn't wait to call out to his companions; if a threat appears it should do so in front of him.]
A-Qing! [The kind stranger he saved has yet to give him his name and Xingchen never required one until now. The thought only increases the newly-set blaze of fear in his chest.] A-Qing! Little Blind!
[He pauses to listen and the sounds of labored breathing lead him up to the Coffin House itself. Here, the stench of blood nearly overpowers, stains his senses and drives his need to protect.]
A-Qing! [Where is she? Is this her blood soaking into the dust? Will he find her corpse already cool to the touch? And what of the stranger? Was he close? Was he alive?
Xingchen followed the sounds of the heavy breathing, searching hands finding knees in the darkness. Heavy, textured fabrics. The stranger. The friend. The waft of blood stains him too. No time. His fingers search urgently for a wound, for something to bandage and heal and press closed.] You are hurt.
xxc gets bullied by merchants and xy Disagrees
Whispers follow him in the market, especially when he walks alone. He's volunteered this time, no drawing of straws, to collect sweets for Qing and their friend. Both have such an insatiable sweet tooth and find such joy in small gifts, that Xingchen can hardly help himself. The words of strangers do not bother him; he gave his eyes to someone who needed them more than him. This blindness can be survived. In a world full of such darkness, he can still provide a light without his eyes.
He counts steps to the first produce merchant, but instead of dealing with him as usual, the merchant refuses. The wood of the shop table creaks and then something wet hits Xingchen's face.
Get out! Go!
Did- Did someone spit on him? Xingchen steps back first, fingers rising to his cheeks. Warm. Viscous. No metallic stench. The dregs of a meal. Liquor.
Spit. Someone spit on him. How unpleasant. But hate can never be conquered with more hate, darkness with more dark. Instead, Xiao Xingchen bows, turns back toward Yi City without completing the errand at hand. Halfway back, he comes across someone else. The last thing he wants is to be spit on again, to stink of another man's meat and wine, so he steps to the far side of the road, but the person steps in front of him, blocks his path.
Where is the cripple and the little blind?]
I want no trouble with you.
what if i didn't suck at things. that would be nice wouldn't it.
oh hush