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“The room is full of flour dust. You should ‘settle the dust to prevent fire’ , remember?”
Wu Zhongheng’s pupils quiver in fear from the distance, eyes opening wider when he realises and remembers what Huai’an meant with ‘6’ words.
“With a broken body, I kill the King of Tiemo. Today, I win!” Xie Huai’an pulls the dagger out of his abdomen, blood comes along it, some of it lands on the dust covered ground. The rest of it stayed on the blade and ruined his white robes further. His arm swings towards his target.
The blade scrapes along the shelf’s edge, sparks fly up and light up as they come in contact with the flour dust. The sparks fly and ignite, a fire forms before him, around, on Wu Zhongheng. A fire ignites behind him as well—he hears the noise, it’ll engulf him faster than he can even blink, the world turns, or perhaps blows is the better term for his last moment.
It turns, for one second it feels like he’s being carried away by something too peaceful then he’d expected death to be, and then it feels like he’s falling. The noise happens, it doesn’t engulf him, it turns dark either way.
He wakes. Wakes, his wound is bandaged and healing, he’s gotten treatment. He’s alive. He’s alive and Ye Zheng is kneeling on the hard wooden floor beside him, Ye Zheng’s hands holding his. He sits up, quietly he tries to pull his hand back, only to be met with the man’s open red eyes and the man enveloping him in a mere second.
“Huai’an!” There’s a mixed quiver of emotions as he wails out his name. Worry, grief, anger, a certain affection more than he’d ever shown him before, something he’d been keeping in the dark for a while—something deep within him stirs because he knows, he too had buried it deep down once before as well.
“Huai’an” He calls again, softer now. “Huai’an” Again, “Huai’an” again and again, till he can’t hide away any more—something he’d never do. Ye Zheng kisses the knuckles of the hand he’d been holding, almost like a prayer, almost a promise. Ye Zheng lifts his hands, still clasping Huai’an’s with his own, while he cradles Huai’an his face and presses their foreheads together. “Huai’an you woke up, Huai’an..”
***
Ye Zheng’s out of breath, he can feel it as he nearly can’t draw in a breath of fresh air into his lungs, his throat dry. He couldn't stop moving though, he had to get Huai’an out. He hears Huai’an say that today he won and a fire is getting lit. Ye Zheng moves faster than he'd ever before, a fire has erupted behind the man.
Everything faded for a while as Ye Zheng’s arms wrapped around Huai’an, the white haired man was on the verge of collapsing. He hailed him up, one of his arms supporting Huai’an’s back as his head lolled against his shoulder, while the other supported his legs. They’d gotten out just on time before the granary exploded, shoving them forwards onto the ground, Ye Zheng stumbled and fell, yet protected the man he carried.
“Ye Zheng.. I won..” Soft, broken. Huai’an whispered. Ye Zheng heard a loud ringing in his ears, yet still managed to catch what he’d said.
“Huai’an!” Soft but urgent, he’d called for him, receiving a smile and lips pressed to the corner of his mouth. Ye Zheng could smell the metallic rusty taste of blood, it would taste awful, yet all he needed to keep now was Huai’an and the small sliver of will somewhere deep within him. He’d seen it once before, shortly for less than a second, he’d seen the emotion Huai’an had taught himself to bury for a lifetime.
Ye Zheng pushed their lips together, first just a press of lips, then they moved against each other, with each other. Ye Zheng’s mouth filled with the taste of a thick copper tasting like liquid. Blood drips between them as Ye Zheng creates distance between them as he gets up and heads towards the clinic. To save Huai’an, just for a while longer, just till the day Huai’an mutters about in his blood loss delirium to the man who carries him.
***
“Ye Zheng..” Huai’an called for him now, a soft press of his lips against Ye Zheng’s mouth corners. Huai’an’s lips are dry and no longer taste of the harsh metallic blood. Instead, Ye Zheng tasted the bitter medicine he’d been feeding the man for days on end now, he moistened Huai’an’s dry lips with his own, with his tongue and perhaps with their mixed tears or just his tears, for he tasted salt.
He straddles Huai’an. Deepens the kiss and draws a noise—a startled one yet a pleased one—from the man beneath him. They press their heads together again. Huai’an his hair had gone white but he’ll live till the day he muttered of before.