xiao xingchen. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
starscaped) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
jiangshan2020-01-20 07:55 pm
starscaped) wrote in jiangshan2020-01-20 07:55 pm
i'm looking at the cosmos
WHO: xue yang and xiao xingchen. ( song lan later? )
WHERE: on a dirty, bloody road.
WHEN: sweats
WHAT: first meetings
WARNINGS: dont quote me, but probably nsfw knowing me
( if the moon had a voice, she'd surely tell xiao xingchen that he's out far too late tonight to be wandering the beaten path on his own. she might be wise, then, but she doesn't have the same natural inclinations that he does. she's a beacon, and the tides follow her call — xingchen is just a wave, searching for his moon in the chilly midnight air, the soulful creaks of the forest calling his name towards their depths.
his eyes remain devout, searching for song lan. the red string tied around his pointer finger glows eerily red in the bleak nightfall, illuminating a path onward, its shine detailing song lan has been wounded, somewhere. he follows the trail like so many waves chasing moonlight, mind alert on the surface but otherwise lost for what might've gotten him.
he doesn't, as a noteworthy mention, realize the string is tied to his opposite hand.
this is how he stumbles across a man in a field, looking bloodied and broken from what must've been a savage fight. xingchen can't explain the way the red knots of their fingers meet up like broken butterfly wings, or how looking at him is like seeing song lan for the first time — how strange and curious and concerning a world like this is, where so many pieces of a puzzle already aligned, fall directly out of place. a boy in his lap bleeding on shaking fingers.
it isn't a question to him about helping — in the cover of night and without much choice, he sets up a new camp somewhere further off a direct road, carrying xue yang in his arms and finding a shallow cave to spend the night in. when xue yang comes to, he's draped with xingchen's outer robes, the blood washed from the cake of his face, the wounds along his body sewn and wrapped as best as xingchen was able. there he is too, a collected stranger, tending to a fire that burns between them. )
WHERE: on a dirty, bloody road.
WHEN: sweats
WHAT: first meetings
WARNINGS: dont quote me, but probably nsfw knowing me
( if the moon had a voice, she'd surely tell xiao xingchen that he's out far too late tonight to be wandering the beaten path on his own. she might be wise, then, but she doesn't have the same natural inclinations that he does. she's a beacon, and the tides follow her call — xingchen is just a wave, searching for his moon in the chilly midnight air, the soulful creaks of the forest calling his name towards their depths.
his eyes remain devout, searching for song lan. the red string tied around his pointer finger glows eerily red in the bleak nightfall, illuminating a path onward, its shine detailing song lan has been wounded, somewhere. he follows the trail like so many waves chasing moonlight, mind alert on the surface but otherwise lost for what might've gotten him.
he doesn't, as a noteworthy mention, realize the string is tied to his opposite hand.
this is how he stumbles across a man in a field, looking bloodied and broken from what must've been a savage fight. xingchen can't explain the way the red knots of their fingers meet up like broken butterfly wings, or how looking at him is like seeing song lan for the first time — how strange and curious and concerning a world like this is, where so many pieces of a puzzle already aligned, fall directly out of place. a boy in his lap bleeding on shaking fingers.
it isn't a question to him about helping — in the cover of night and without much choice, he sets up a new camp somewhere further off a direct road, carrying xue yang in his arms and finding a shallow cave to spend the night in. when xue yang comes to, he's draped with xingchen's outer robes, the blood washed from the cake of his face, the wounds along his body sewn and wrapped as best as xingchen was able. there he is too, a collected stranger, tending to a fire that burns between them. )