[un: Chengmei] video

[thesuspense]

Did any good come from your parents?

[Perhaps that seems like a personal question. He does not care.]

What's the point of family?

[Now, this may seem cynical, and it possibly is, but he doesn't really sound it. He doesn't seem bitter, he smiled a little, then looks to a point off-screen.]

See, daozhang? I'm trying.

[A pause, then he corrects himself with a wave of one hand.]

Hear.

Comments

[binghua]

[There's something here that connects their moralities. Finally, Xingchen has found this fragile thread that he feels really means something, that tells him Xue Yang isn't entirely lost. Maybe. He hopes. (He hopes?)

But it is a fragile thing. It could snap in an instant or for reasons Xingchen doesn't understand, just as Xue Yang doesn't understand how he sees the world.

Xingchen just holds Xue Yang like this for a time, trying to memorize this moment.

One hand shifts, fingers brushing over Xue Yang's hair. He whispers, afraid to shatter whatwver this is.]

There's always a reason.

[thesuspense]

[Xingchen is his reason. For anything and everything.

But he doesn't say that, because he has a feeling that it wouldn't be received well, even if he also suspects that Xingchen knows that it's true. He has certainly voiced similar sentiments before.

It's as if his scalp is on fire with the sensation of Xingchen's touch and Xue Yang breathes out slowly, pressing his lips together to keep from saying the wrong thing. He doesn't know what the right thing is, however.]

If you drink some, daozhang, then I'll be sure to share the rest.

[binghua]

[Such a simple touch, something so easily taken for granted. Xingchen allows himself to drown in it for now, to just touch a warm face and feel soft hair and remember a friendship severed but that never really was. He's found a precious bead of goodness in this wretch. He feels so, so lonely for it. Just for a while he wants to forget.

He can't save Xue Yang. This is a knowledge that blends with the marrow of his bones. He knows. He knows. But what would it be like to try? Xiao Xingchen is already a ruined man. He can't even save himself.

His hands frame that familiar face again, fingertips tracing defined brows and cheekbones, following the line of a nose, resting softly on pursed lips. And then, they fall away, back into his lap, resting against the water pouch left nearly forgotten.

He can't save Xue Yang, but he still gives into him, taking that water in his hands and sparing himself only a sip.]

Mn. Please.