Archive of Our Own

Jiyan’s sleep is restless, plagued with images he wishes to forget. He isn’t graced with the damn privilege, not now, not tomorrow, possibly not ever. Every time he closes his eyes the hell on earth comes to life, sure to remind him of it all. He dreams of blood and gore, the horror that war brings onto Jinzhou’s front yard.  He can hear the wails of pain and begging that seem to echo over deserted plains covered in nothing but destruction as far as the gaze can see. They scream his name, plead for him to save them, they beseech and accuse, and more than anything, he wants to help. Yet he can’t move! He is stuck in this nightmare. Death brushes against him, fire burning his skin into cinders. He can taste the ash in the air, unable to stop it from choking him. He can imagine the agonising torture that accompanies his own blood seeping into the ground, nurturing the unforgiving terrain. The demise that follows them all throughout the day refuses to leave him alone even during the night. The unforgiving end of his comrades’, his general’s, and his own life. Their empty gazes staring towards the sky, mouths still open from their wails, terror and anguish frozen in their expressions until the end of time. He can see their lifeblood run like cursed rivers across the land, their bodies lie in broken heaps, some not even in one piece anymore. Not all of the faces belong to people truly dead, but each day he fears worse and worse that they will be in the morgue next, that they too will be added to the long list of those he has failed to save from this cruel fate. They, too, will blame him no matter where he looks. All he wants is to get their blood off of his hands, but his skin merely stains even more. It feels as if his arms are painted red up to his elbows, instead of water washing it off, it makes it worse, as if he is bathing himself in it. It drips loudly to the ground, and each passing moment seems to produce more of it. 

More than anything, he wishes to be released from the prison he has been locked up in. Pleads to be allowed back into the waking world, to once more breathe air that doesn’t so horribly taste of disaster that it chokes him where he stands. No matter how much he prays, beseeching the sentinel on his knees to be released from this torture, only silence answers him. The horrors return night after night. If anything, it seems to pour fuel into the fire, lighting everything aflame.  His dreams take his suffering as a challenge to do worse. Tonight brings no relief either.

He is trapped in this madness, each and every scene created to be his personal hell. He wants out! He doesn’t wish to be here, covered in the blood of the men he was supposed to help! He doesn’t want their eyes on him, shaking their heads in disappointment. As if he had done nothing ! As if he was the one to blame for it all! He can’t breathe, each gasp for air only fills his lungs with pain, thousands of excruciating needles piercing through him. They suffocate him with the stench of their death. Why are they punishing him? Can’t they see he tried? He gave his best, isn’t that enough? 

Someone is screaming, the sound so horribly distorted that he can’t even begin to guess who it could be. He is running out of air again, as if someone poured liquid fire or metal debris down his throat, tearing the insides to shreds. He might be drowning in his own blood. He doesn’t want to die! In this freezing darkness that surrounds him, something warm wraps around him. No! They can’t have him, they can’t drag him down with them. He wants to live! Please! He tries to shake the arms around him off, he doesn’t desire the agony they promise him, he doesn’t wish to see them again. He wants out, please… Their hold tightens around him. No matter how much he trashes, he can’t break free. The piercing wails deafen him, as if the source stood in front of him, screaming in his face. There is no one there! Why can’t they stop, why can’t there be silence? 

His throat dries, filling with sand that is coarse against his tongue, glueing the skin of his cheeks to his teeth. He can’t get enough air, why isn’t there enough of it? He begs for mercy, crying to be released. He doesn’t want to suffer anymore. The arms around him don’t drag him off deeper into this hell, instead, there is… humming. He can feel each note vibrate against his entire being, the soft tune finally brings silence, and the fight rushes out of him. Perhaps they don’t want to hurt him, perhaps they would have mercy,  lay him to rest fast, without suffering. It doesn’t bring death, rather it gives him back the air, there is finally enough of it around him. He can breathe again! He gasps for it, yet still his heart trashes within his chest. Begging for freedom. No one, not even Jiyan, can fight eternally and peace seeps in, subduing every piece of resistance left in him. The hold around him promises something else, but this eternal darkness he so despises. It wouldn’t be that bad to just let go, would it? Maybe then it will all stop. Just cease to exist alongside him. If this warm embrace, so loving around him, is death, maybe he doesn’t wish to wake anymore. Maybe it would be… easier. 

A pair of golden eyes, so similar to the sun, cross his mind, and the fight in his heart is lit anew with purple flames. NO! He can’t die! The general! He needs Jiyan! With renewed resolve, he tries to get free again, wailing for the man to save him, screaming his name until his throat is parched all over again. All that answers him is a sharp pain against his neck and then nothing. The darkness consumes him, and he knows no more. 

***

When Jiyan finally comes to, nothing changes at all. Everything is as dark as before, not even a flicker of light around him. He tries to open his eyes, but his lashes brush against something. Is he… blindfolded? The only saving grace is that there is no longer panic twisted around his insides like barbed wire, yet someone’s warm arms are still wrapped around him. Shouldn’t he already be gone if it was death cradling him so sweetly? Perhaps he is dreaming… how else could he explain loving arms and blindfolds if not by blaming his mind for bringing them to life. Wouldn't it be nice for his dreams to be filled with something else but blood, to leave him hugged so close to a man’s chest - for it is surely a man, his strong abs rising and falling under Jiyan’s hand with each breath he takes. His heart drums against Jiyan’s ear, soft and steady and so utterly calming. It is a nice dream, he decides, surely he can indulge a bit. 

The man he is lying on is humming softly, the sound reverberating deep in his chest, merging into one peaceful melody with his heart. Jiyan thinks he might melt, long fingers are carding through his hair, blunt nails occasionally scratching against his scalp. The hot fingertips ghosting against his neck bring with them a sensation so overwhelming that a part of him wants to flee from it, even though his body’s first reaction is to slightly arch closer to it... He shudders involuntarily when the hand almost brushes against the beginning of his tacet mark. He snuggles closer to the man, not caring who it is, in a dream, none of this matters, and a part of him prefers not knowing. Yet his heart is certain that only golden eyes and white hair could bring such peace to him. He almost irrationally mourns the humming when it stops. Hot air whisps against his face, and the words “Go back to sleep, Jiyan, I’ll protect you” ghost over his skin. Isn’t he already asleep? Isn’t this a mere beautiful dream that he has been graced with? Thinking is confusing and tiring, and as the man starts humming again, Jiyan gives up. There will be another time when he can look back at this moment with a clear mind, but now? He just wants to indulge. He allows himself to sink into the warmth, lose his mind in the loving sensation, giving away all his troubles and thoughts that are so insistently loud. If only he could live in this heaven for the rest of his existence, in this silent peace that is so utterly different from reality. This is what he wishes a life without the lament would look like. Heated cuddles and a familiar raspy voice, golden eyes and white hair that flows like foaming waterfalls, or the slow waltz of snowflakes in harsh winter winds. Wordlessly, he asks the sentinel for a single blessing. All he wishes for is to be able to return to this moment over and over again. Silently, with no answer from above, the dream fades away from his consciousness, and all he knows is peace.

***

Jiyan wakes to the same already familiar sensation. There is no one lying with him anymore, but he is still so utterly warm and relaxed, entirely uncommon for the well-honed routine his life at the frontlines has become. He is used to cold nights and rough bedding, often staying in the wilderness on long missions in a state that people in the city would turn their noses up at. Discomfort isn’t unknown to him, but he is not used to this. It is everything out of the ordinary, everything that the war is not, that their everyday life is not. It confuses him deeply. He is unsure what has birthed this strange situation. Is he still dreaming, or should worry that is absent gnaw at his heart? The young man he had been years ago would jubilantly indulge, feel happiness that there is something so nice in this world. The man he has become is no longer familiar with any of this, and that leaves him cautious. It is bothersome to be scared of comfort, but he can’t help his mind telling him that there is something here that is not right, something that spells certain doom.

The sheets he is snuggled up in are not known to him. They surely aren’t his. Hell, this is most definitely not any of those rock-hard medbay ones either - though calling those with the word “bed” is an insult to mankind. Jiyan is quite certain that this concludes the list, there just aren’t any more beds in the entire camp that he could ever end up in. In fact, are there any on this level of comfort in the entire front to begin with? Or perhaps he is no longer in the camp at all? But it isn’t from his mother’s house or clinic either! What is even going on? 

Painstakingly, he tries to recall what happened yesterday. He remembers the battle, standard procedure that had turned south way too fast, way too jarringly. At least one of the youngsters had paid with her life. 

Damn it, he was supposed to keep them safe, to protect them, instead, he is the one laying sentinel knows where injured. He should have died instead of her. Just moments before the attack, she had spoken of her little brother, shown a picture to everyone willing to look. Jiyan has no one left, no one to go home to, no one to take a break for… No one would miss him. Yet that little boy will ask until the end of time when his sister is coming home next. And someone will have to tell him that sis ain’t coming anymore. Perhaps it would have been better if it had been him instead. 

He still hears the screams ringing in his ears, sees the cold, empty gaze staring up at him, and the blood soaking the ground is still painted in front of his closed eyes, hell he is almost certain that it is still seeping through his clothes. He can feel the burning shards as if they are still embedded into his skin, he can’t remember where they should be, but he is certain they are still there,  still burning, still buried, still hurting. He can feel the agony spear through his stomach as well. 

A tacet discord that had tried to make a Jinzhou skewer out of him, all it lacked was some greens. Or would Jiyan’s hair count for those?  He shakes himself out of the idiotic thoughts that have merged from the insistent flashback. He tries to think about anything else, but that proves to be challenging. The images dance in front of his mind, taunting him. It is eventually a pair of familiar golden eyes that erase the stubborn madness and allow him to think somewhat clearly. He should be in medbay, arguing with whichever nurse is on duty and lecturing him, so why isn’t he? Why is he here, lying in this foreign place instead? 

Jiyan ghosts his hands across the bed slowly, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He doesn’t gain much. Only one of them reaches the edge, and all that the other brushes against are sheets and then some more sheets. There are no answers to be found. The only noteworthy detail is that the spot next to him seems to be slightly warmer than the rest of the bed, as if someone had lain there. Perhaps it had been him, perhaps he was still dreaming, and it had belonged to a man with brilliant white hair instead. Jiyan chides himself, he is his superior officer, no need to go fantasising about improbable scenarios that would surely cause anger to bubble in the general should he ever find out. 

He tries to blink open his eyes again, hoping to finally take a look around. Surely that will give him more answers and fewer questions. It was a sweet idea while it lasted… There is still something covering his eyes. Is he asleep after all? No, he is pretty certain that he is awake. The world around him doesn’t hold the subtle foggy sensation of a dream. Yet his lashes are brushing against the cover above his eyes, the feeling so alien that he just keeps them closed instead. Jiyan lifts his hand to trace his fingers across the edge of the blindfold, gently trailing them over the… bandages? Confusion swirls inside him, and his eyebrows, under the cover, furrow. It is an extremely unconventional choice for a blindfold. Plus, why would anyone even want to do that? Isn’t it a bit childish, or worse… His train of thought is promptly cut in half as warm fingers wrap around his wrist and pull his hand away.

“I was under the impression that you injured your face. Tell me, why does it look like you knocked a few screws loose in the process?” the familiar voice growls low, “You should know well enough not to mess with your bandages.”

“General!” 

He tries to sit up from the bed to properly - alright, somewhat properly - salute the man. A sharp pain runs through his abdomen as if someone had pushed a boardblade in up to the hilt and then twisted it. He can't bite back the pained gasp that escapes him as he instinctively curls around his injured stomach. He tries to desperately calm his breathing as every sharp movement seems to agitate it further. Right, Jinzhou Skewer Jiyan…  

A strong hand presses against his shoulder, forcing him down again, and he goes willingly.

“None of that, you idiot! Is that the gratitude you have for your medics, trying to tear their painstaking work to shreds the moment you get the damn chance?”

Jiyan remains lying down, still gasping for breath, each movement harshly reminding him that he is more injured than he thought he would be. The general sounds angry with him, his voice all sharp edges and pissed off growling, yet something about his tone is off. Had it been anyone else, he would have thought that the man was worried, but that was as ridiculous as wondering whether his hair passed for a vegetable or not. Perhaps he is a bit warm from the head, and it is a fever that talks for him. Wouldn’t be surprising, after all. Injuries often come with infections, especially on the frontlines.

“I apologise…” he wheezes through his teeth. 

“At ease, and for the love of Juè, don’t injure yourself further!” 

Deeming that Jiyan will not try to rise again, the warm hand leaves his shoulder, tossing the blanket back on top of him and surprisingly tucking it around him in weirdly gentle movements that are so unlike General Geshu Lin. Now it is absolutely certain that he is still stuck in a fever dream. Or perhaps his mind has resorted to hallucinations? There is no way in hell that the General Geshu Lin is tucking him into bed like a loving mother hen. In fact, there is no way he even has such gentle thoughts regarding anyone, least of all Jiyan. That man breathes for the war, and even if there would ever be anyone he cared so deeply for, sure it wouldn’t actually be Jiyan. They butt heads too constantly for the man to spare any love for him.

“What’s the status?” His voice is barely above a whisper, and more than anything, he prays that the general heard him, that he understood him. The mere thought that he might have to repeat himself makes him wince slightly. His throat is way too dry, and each word hurts worse than the one before it. It would be agonising. He wishes he could look the general in the eye, see what the man is thinking. Is he angry with Jiyan, and he just can’t see it? The thought causes fear to bubble in him, and he despises the bandages above his eyes more and more with each passing moment. The deep nothingness that surrounds him now scares him, almost as much as the gruesome images from the war. He knows it isn’t rational, it is just emptiness, and there is nothing dangerous there, but ever since he was a child, he never slept well in the dark. That fear had carried over to his adult life, and even now, a small lamp stood on his bedside table, always ready to shine some brightness into the night. Jiyan hated that all he had was himself for company and the voice of a man he couldn’t see. Not even his trusty lamp could save him from this.  

Jiyan tries to force his anxiety down. The wounds are just near his eyes, and it was easier to bandage them like this. It is surely a temporary suffering that he must overcome. One that he will think back to with a smile later on, surely he will laugh over how much of a scaredy cat he had been. For now, he just has to keep his head held high and shoulder on. He manages to convince himself, to force his mind to calm down from the edge of panic it had adopted. Yet there still remains this prickling doubt in the back of his head. He ignores it.  He will be alright, there is no other choice. 

“Four injured, one dead,” comes the curt reply. Relief washes over him. No one else had paid a price too steep for his inadequacy, most injuries could be healed, but no one could bring someone back from the dead. The general carries on, not allowing Jiyan to simmer in his thoughts for even a moment too long.

“As for you, a blow to the stomach, and multiple lacerations on your face. You’ll live.” Geshu Lin doesn’t sound overly warm or caring, but he isn’t filled to the brim with rage either, like Jiyan had been sure would come after pulling a stunt like this. He had been certain that he would be welcomed with anger, pissed-off words that felt like poison as they pierced through him. He expected an explosion, expected their first meeting after the battle to blow into smithereens. The lack of raised voices and curses that would leave him with tears brimming in the corner of his eyes is worrying. General Geshu Lin tended to follow obvious patterns, for him to sidestep something that Jiyan had been certain would happen…

A weary sigh escapes him. It’s weird how truly happy he is about the news. In his defence, it could have ended up a lot worse, the situation had been on the verge of getting out of hand before he went down. It would have been simple for it to destabilise further and cause harm on an enormous scale. Perhaps he looks like a weakling to the man still towering above him, yet he is too tired to worry about appearances, too exhausted to even consider what the other will think of him. For now, it doesn’t even matter. There will be a lecture one day that will leave him with the figurative burns stinging for weeks afterwards, yet until that day comes, he would rather not spend every waking minute waiting for the axe to fall. He would never be able to predict it accurately anyway.

“Go back to sleep, Jiyan, you need rest.” The general’s words echo in his mind, they feel so… familiar. It takes an embarrassingly long moment, but when he finally pieces it together, all sleepiness instantly evaporates. He had dreamt of that voice uttering those words already. What if it hadn't been a dream after all! What if he had been awake all along? Wouldn’t that mean that the arms wrapped so snuggly around his waist like those of a lover had belonged to… Geshu Lin. He can feel the heat on his cheeks blaze to life. Jiyan’s blushing had always been horribly obvious on his skin, and he doesn’t doubt for a moment that the general is able to see it clear as day. 

As carefully as possible, he turns onto his side, leaving his unguarded back to the man, but it is definitely better than allowing him to see the redness of his face. He hides his embarrassment successfully into the blanket. Mission accomplished - or not - Geshu Lin laughs , the sound deep but surprisingly light for the man. A small involuntary shudder rattles through Jiyan’s frame, and the flush he had hoped to contain spreads down to his collarbones and all the way to the back of his neck. There is no way he is hiding that one… Unless, of course, he pulls the entire blanket over his head and makes it even more obvious to everyone with a working pair of eyes…

A warm hand tussles his hair, messing it all up until it resembles a crow’s nest, ignoring Jiyan’s somewhat desperate attempts to smooth it back down. Eventually, mercy is granted, and the chaos on top of his head is left alone. A chair next to the bed creaks as the general sits down and resumes whatever it was that had held his attention before. The rhythmic shuffling of papers speaks of another agonising battle against the never-ending paperwork. It is surprising that the man is even bothering with it, anyone knows he would rather burn it all into dust and never even look towards another piece of paper again in his life. They both know he doesn’t actually have the privilege. 

Jiyan chooses to ignore it all, the fact that the man had most likely seen him flush bright at a mere order to sleep , the fact that it seemingly didn’t surprise him at all, as if he held all the cards, as if he knew . He doesn’t have the energy to worry about any of it. He merely burrows deeper into the warm blankets and sinks into the comfort they offer. Plus, what he hasn’t seen hasn’t happened, and the bandages around his eyes enforce that rule of thumb his father had always jokingly called the most important of them all perfectly. Problem solved. 

It takes surprisingly little for him to nod off, and the fact that he dreams of nothing at all is a blessing in disguise, one that might be accounted to the man who had climbed out of the horribly uncomfortable chair and back into bed as soon as he was certain that the victim of his care had succumbed to his exhaustion.

***

For the third time, he wakes to a feeling of deja vu hitting him square in the chest like a poisoned bullet. He is absolutely certain that there is no way he could be dreaming. Just in case he won’t rule out hallucinations, but even those seem improbable. The dull ache of his wounds has flared to life, refusing to succumb, in fact, it is merely getting worse with each passing moment, and he has to work hard on his expressions to keep the obvious pain from becoming clear with a grimace. On top of the ache in his wounds, his head is banging pots and pans together, causing a ruckus to the point where he wants someone to just knock him out. It would be a gift from the sentinel. 

Whatever medication he had been given is wearing off. Besides the agonising pain, his mind is foggy, as if filled to the brim with cotton. By all means, he is surrounded by warmth, but the freezing chills are still shaking through him, almost rattling his teeth with their force. The fever burns, leaving behind an uncomfortable sheen of sweat on his skin. The worst part of it all is the fact that his cheek is pressed against Geshu Lin’s abs, the single layer of clothing between them does little to the fire it lights inside him as each one of his breaths gently jostles Jiyan’s head. Warm fingers are scratching against his scalp lazily, where the man’s hand is cradling him close like a precious treasure. It helps with the throbbing pain trying to beat its way out of his skull. He squeezes his eyes shut underneath the bandage, hoping that perhaps it will help, but somehow it only makes the solid ache forcing his eyes to burn even worse. The man underneath him shifts slightly, and Jiyan is acutely made aware that the abs are, in fact, not the worst part of it all. He is lying in between the general’s legs, one of them pressed against his back where the man has it propped up. Mortification fills him to the brim, this is not proper at all. How did the man even allow it? Subtly, he tries to adjust his own position, but that comes with a hefty price in the face of unbearable pain surging through him. A distressed whine that he is unable to bite back in time escapes him. The soft humming that had filled the air around them stops briefly, and the hand carding through his hair is accompanied by the small whisper of “I know, it’s going to be alright, Jiyan.” After that, he carries on as if the words had never escaped his lips after all. The way he utters his name is foreign to him, but the feeling it creates inside him is something he never wants to give away again.

There is no longer any question whether he had dreamt or hallucinated before. Clearly, it had been reality after all. The flush of his skin might be getting worse as the mortification that settles inside him makes him want to just keel over and cease to exist. He is glad that the high fever has surely painted his skin red, merging together with whatever blush would have otherwise betrayed him. He wants to sink back into sleep, but it is difficult when your body wails in pain worse and worse with each passing moment. He buries his face deeper against the strong muscles underneath him with a slight groan, glad that he can’t actually see any bright lights - they would only make everything so much worse. The sound of papers shuffling joins the soft humming for a brief moment before the hand from his hair trails down to his shoulder, the other joining it on the other side. The moment those fingers dig into his muscles makes him want to slap a hand over his mouth, but it is way too late to catch the muffled gasp that had escaped. Geshu Lin seemingly doesn’t care a bit,  his hands methodically massaging the flesh. When he pushes his thumbs down the sides of Jiyan’s neck, he really can’t stop the obvious shiver that runs down his spine. It is absolutely certain that Geshu Lin felt the shudder, yet he carries on, each one of his touches causing Jiyan to melt even more against him. The mortification that simmers somewhere inside him withers and dies as the pain that had kept his head in a chokehold succumbs to the talented touch. Embarrassing or not, Jiyan is a weak man, and there is no question whether he will indulge for as long as the general offers or not. Perhaps it will come to bite him in the ass one day, but for now, he wants to be selfish. Oh, he could remain like this for the rest of eternity.   

Surprisingly, it lulls him closer to sleep. He doesn’t succumb to it entirely, but he remains lying boneless against the warmth of the man, soaking in the comfort that a simple massage brings. Whatever agony had made home in his skull has been swept away by the heated storm that is General Geshu Lin. He doesn’t really remember the last time existing had felt this pleasing. Perhaps it had been long before he joined the army, long before everything from his childhood had crumbled to dust. He allows the gentle touch to lead him into the floating existence between sleep and reality, teetering on the edge of falling into slumber. The cold shivers don’t really succumb to the man’s touch, not entirely, but they lessen under his heated hands that seem to melt Jiyan like butter. 

There is a sharp knock on the door, and the heaven that had graced him is swept away. With utmost care, Jiyan’s pillow slips one hand underneath his head and, as if handling glass and lifts him off. He doesn’t manage to catch the sound of discontent that escapes him, and frankly, it makes him want to sink into the ground to never emerge again. It takes a moment before he hears feet hit the ground and the already familiar hand combs through his hair, smoothing it away from his face, where he had curled into the blissfully cold pillow he had been placed upon.

“Hush, little dragon, I’ll  be back soon enough.” He is sure that the colour his skin turns when the chapped lips gently press against his forehead is unnatural, even for a fever. His heart beats against his ribs as if it is desperate to escape its cage and jump into the general's arms.

The man’s footsteps are barely audible as he approaches the door, leaving Jiyan to chew on his lower lip as his mind jumps through hundreds of hoops. Perhaps the general doesn’t even know what kind of war he had brought to life in Jiyan, utterly ignorant of the chaos a single kiss had caused. The fact that it was all it took… Perhaps he could subdue the images his mind is trying to conjure if he could knock himself out. Surely if he bashed his head against the wall, it would get the job done. The demanded “What?” at the door is enough to remind him that before he could even get the first hit in, the man would have all of his plans intercepted. He doesn’t trust that Geshu Lin wouldn’t tie him up if he so much as suspected that leaving Jiyan free would be a safety hazard. The sinful image that flickers to life in front of his eyes at the mere thought of that is enough to refrain from it. Though now that he thinks about it, he wouldn’t mind…

Oh for fucks sake Jiyan, get a grip!

Desperately trying to escape the mere thought of heated lips on places they definitely shouldn’t be at and the damn black ribbon tied around his wrists instead of Geshu Lin’s hair, he turns his attention to the heated whispering going on at the door instead. Even though both of their voices are hushed, he catches glimpses here and there.

“....it’s bad…..can’t treat……might lose it….Jinzhou…..”

The blood in his veins that mere moments ago had tried to boil, whether out of fever or the carnal images that refused to leave him alone, turns ice cold. He can’t help the obvious tremble in his hands, they just keep shaking as the cotton from his mind disperses enough with his shock to allow room for the realisation to settle instead. None of this should make sense to him, he wishes more than anything that it didn’t. Yet he had given almost identical reports hundreds of times himself. He knew the words by heart, apologised that you can’t treat them and send them off on their merry way to Jinzhou, knowing that if they survive the transport, the probability of them ever returning to the front, of them ever living a life of fulfilment is slim to none. The fact that the only specific patient he knew of that would warrant reporting straight to the general was Jiyan himself doesn’t help. They couldn’t treat him here… 

His heart hammers in his chest, and the mere notion of breathing turns difficult. He had said that he would be alright, the general had promised him! Then why wasn’t he? He digs his nails into the flesh of his palms, trying to shake himself out of the panic choking him. Geshu Lin hated people who listened in on him, and even though the conversation was happening in front of him, it hadn’t been for him. Yet the questions continue to swim around his head.

What was so utterly wrong with him that they had to send him away? Will he ever be allowed back if they send him off now? What if he never saw General Geshu Lin again? The man never left the front after all, and if they didn’t let Jiyan come back… The mere thought of never seeing the man again sets the panic inside him ablaze all over. The buzzing in his mind is so utterly loud that whatever happens at the door never breaks through to him. He doesn’t hear when the general dismisses the medic, he doesn’t hear the soft footsteps approach. The panic in his mind is enough to cut him off from even attempting to communicate with the real world around him. Tears are brimming at the corners of his eyes, just waiting to fall. The bed behind him dips as the man lies back down again. Yet Jiyan doesn't notice it before strong arms wrap around his waist and pull him tight against the general's strong chest. The hold shakes him out of the constant train of thoughts refusing to brake, giving him a short moment to just breathe. He doesn’t remain in that comfort, he needs to know.

Jiyan’s voice is impossibly quiet when he asks the dreaded question: “How bad?”

Geshu Lin sighs. It doesn’t sound good at all, and the only distraction is his breath tickling Jiyan's nape, and the shiver is entirely involuntary. The man’s breath continues to caress against him, and for a moment, he wonders if turning around would make it better. Yet his brain gladly provides him with the image of those lips mere inches from his own, the dance of air that is now teasing his tacet mark brushing against his mouth instead. No, that would be so much worse. He can bear the sensitivity of the tacet mark, but to be so close and not kiss the man? Out of the question entirely. 

“Bad. The probability of you coming out of this with your sight intact is slim.”

Static fills his mind, and for a moment, he thinks he might actually faint. It is loud as it wails in his head. If the general said anything else, he doesn’t hear it anymore. A soldier, a medic without their sight, is a racehorse with no legs - worth absolutely nothing. His eyes and hands are the entirety of his livelihood. He knew it was going to be bad, but this is worse than any of even his worst nightmares. He can never fight again, never make another stitch again. It will be the end of everything he knows, he will be discharged, sent back to his mother, and he won’t even be able to see the freezing gaze in her eyes as she tells him whatever it is she has to say. It certainly won’t be good. Oh, he should have been the one to die instead, it would have been better than this. The tears that had brimmed on the edge of falling spill. He isn’t even sure he isn’t making it worse than it already is with his crying.

“Slim in your book means none for the regular folks, doesn't it?”  he whispers. He needs to know for sure, he needs to hear it from the man himself. The general doesn't answer him, taking a long pause before he sighs. That is all it takes for him to break. He doesn’t need words when a single breath of air tells him everything. They both know Jiyan is right, even if neither of them wants to admit it. Is this why the general is so out of character? So sweet and gentle with him. He had never been afraid of breaking Jiyan, his words sometimes sharper than his blade, but nothing had ever been so bad either. Geshu Lin is saying goodbye, isn’t he, getting his last fill before he sends him away and never looks back again. Not only won’t he ever see the man again, he won’t even meet him again. The pain inside him makes him want to wail, but he refrains for now, limiting himself to gasping sobs and soaked bandages. Geshu Lin doesn’t tell him he will be alright again, but he holds him through it all until Jiyan doesn’t have another tear to spare. He just lies there, void of all feelings, only numbness seeps into him.

“When will I be transported?” he asks, whispering the cursed words into the air, wishing that he never had to say them at all.

“They sent for your mother to get a second opinion, she is coming here, not the other way around. No one will be transporting you anywhere.”

Jiyan knows it is a lie, eventually, he will be shipped off to Jinzhou like a broken toy, and another bright-eyed soldier who will lose the spark by the end of the week will take his place instead. Then he understands what the general had said, and he freezes, his breath hitching. It takes a sharp tightening of arms around him for the realisation that he stopped breathing to dawn on him. He forces himself to relax. The man is so close to him, his heat glued to Jiyan’s back, almost perfectly following his every curve. He doesn't have the energy left to feel embarrassed about being in such a compromising position with his general. 

“We don't get along that well anymore.” He whispers as an answer to the unasked question hanging in the air between them. It had, in fact, been a while since they were last able to speak civilly to each other at all. His mother makes sure to turn everything he says into a blade that has been aimed at her heart. Jiyan had frankly just stopped trying.

“How come?” The lowly muttered words fan Geshu Lin’s hot breath against the back of Jiyan's neck. He can imagine what it would feel like to have the lips brushing upon his skin, teeth grazing against his tacet mark until he trembles... 

He thoroughly batters himself with a broom in his head, forcing the mere idea of those heated hands on his bare hips, fingers digging into skin until there are marks left behind deep into oblivion. He really should not be thinking about the man like this while the general is near enough to know every change in Jiyan’s body language and quite possibly expressions before he does. It is most definitely not the time to imagine him with fewer clothes than he has on right now. The strong body pressed so close to him doesn’t make it easy. It is with great difficulty that he shakes the temptation off and manages to finally concentrate back on the topic at hand. The general asked a question. Jiyan better not keep him waiting for the rest of the day because of a mere fantasy that refuses to let him be.

“I think she blamed me when my father passed,” he whispers. He has never told anyone about it. As far as everyone around him knows, they get along extremely well, and should the war end,  Jiyan would go back to her clinic to help her out. Perhaps it would have been like that once, but it hasn’t been so for a very long time. Father had been the glue that kept the family together, and with him gone, it had been torn to shreds by baseless accusations before he had been properly buried.

“It got worse when I decided to join the Rangers.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” the gruff voice says so close to his skin that he almost forgets to listen to the actual words escaping the man’s lips.

“I don’t mind,” he shrugs. He really doesn’t. Geshu Lin is perhaps one of the only people he wouldn’t mind telling anything to, even if it will come to bite him in the ass later. No amount of teasing and taunting would change that. If anyone has earned his utmost honesty and respect, it is General Geshu Lin. The man remains silent, giving enough room for Jiyan to elaborate if he so wishes.

“She told me that I'll end up a burden for her like that, you know. Said I’ll lose a limb or something and end up useless,” he says with a bitter laugh,  “I guess she is right, isn't she? You'll discharge me as soon as my wounds allow for transport, and that's it.” He wishes it wasn’t like that, he would do anything to be allowed to stay with the man. No matter how ridiculous, no matter how demeaning others will think it is. He will do whatever it takes to be allowed to just stay, to be able to hear that voice every once in a while, to know that the man still breathes and fights. More than anything, he never wants to let go. He knows it is improbable, there is little in the camp he could successfully do after all, and Geshu Lin doesn’t keep freeloaders around long enough for them to start wasting resources that are better fit to keep his fighters alive. The unease in his gut keeps churning, hands trembling the slightest bit. The crying and panic have effectively undone every bit of care Geshu Lin had poured into him with his massage. His headache flares back to life, insistently stabbing at his mind, the cottony feel is not as bad as before, but the agony in his wounds that had merely pulsed in steady bouts of pain is getting worse with each passing minute. The last of whatever effect the painkillers had on him is disappearing.  

The arms around him tighten once more and only let back slightly when Jiyan inhales sharply at the pressure on his wound that makes everything so much worse. He thinks that there is an almost silent curse uttered into the air behind him, but he isn’t sure.  The general smooths his hand carefully over his stomach, as if petting would save him from the pain at this point. But it works well enough to shock a small chuckle out of him, even if it does nothing for the cause of his distress.

“Believe me, if I could afford to lose you, I would have sent you home for that incessant nagging of yours a long time ago,” the man behind him grumbles. 

Jiyan snaps his head to the side, muscle memory forcing him to try to look the general in the eye before he realizes that the only thing he accomplished with that was almost hitting the man in the face and making his head feel as if someone had screwed it off and shook so hard that his brain turned into mush. He turns back with a low groan, trying to force the nausea brimming somewhere deep to just leave him alone. He buries his head in his hands, despite knowing that it does little to better the situation. That deep laugh graces his ears again, except this time he can feel it against his skin, the puffs of hot air, that sweet rumble of Geshu Lin’s chest where he is pressed so close to him. The blush that had claimed his face as its own spreads to the back of his neck, that damn traitorous bastard serving everything to the general on a silver plate. Oh for fucks sake. It is no better when Geshu Lin leans his head against Jiyan’s neck, skin touching skin. He isn’t sure if he wants to stay like that for the rest of eternity or crawl out of his own body and escape without it. The physical touch of someone else is so foreign to him by now, and the general has been nothing but overwhelming with it. On one hand, he craves it more than he has ever wanted anything in his life. Craves it more than proper food after an excruciating mission that he had survived only on rations that tasted like sand. Yet at the same time, it is too much, too warm, too soft, too loving, too… everything. He just isn’t used to it. Sure, Yhan’s hand is always on someone’s shoulder, and Geshu Lin had forced him into practising hand-to-hand combat for the “What if you don’t have a weapon, what will you do then? Die?” scenarios. Those instances were different, they didn’t make him feel like… this.

“You're just saying that to make me feel better,” he whispers, but the words sound more like a whine than he ever intended them to. Jiyan isn’t exactly proud of that. 

Geshu Lin’s voice seems to drop an octave as he murmurs against his skin: “When did I ever lie to you to make you feel better, you brat?” 

Jiyan opens his mouth to argue, to point out… something - anything - and promptly shuts it back up with a snap of his teeth. The general was known for his brutal honesty, and he couldn't recall a single instance in all the years they had served together when he had attempted to soften the blow, no matter what. If anything, he made religiously sure to bully Jiyan more than necessary for his own twisted amusement. He can’t accuse the man of something he has never done before, but at the same time, he won’t give him the satisfaction of admitting he was wrong either. They both know that his silence is enough to let the general know what conclusion Jiyan has reached, no need to put it into unnecessary words.

One of Geshu Lin's hands moves over his arm in soothing motions. The fact that his fingers could easily wrap around Jiyan’s wrist is something he refuses to think about. He merely allows himself to melt into the softness of his touch, sink into the warmth and let go of all the thoughts plaguing him. There is no need to hold onto the fight in him, so he cuts it loose. Despite it, a single thought continues to plague him no matter how much he tries to divert his attention away. Eventually, he gives the single word running around his head a voice.

“Why?” he questions.

Geshu Lin makes a curious noise but doesn't ask. 

Jiyan wordlessly wraps his fingers around one of Geshu Lin's wrists, his thumb pressed against his pulse point. The man’s heart is beating too fast, almost racing underneath Jiyan’s touch. Does he have the same effect on the general as the man has on him? No, that is impossible…

“Does it matter, why?”

“It does, you confuse me.”

Geshu Lin laughs before falling silent again. He doesn't grace him with an answer. For a moment, Jiyan considers that the man doesn't have one to begin with. He buries the thought just as fast. Geshu Lin doesn't do anything without a damn good reason. Even if it is something that no one else would understand, there is always something that drives each and every one of his decisions, his actions. Which means... he is opting to just lay there silently, and not tell him why, not tell him a damn thing, just hold him as if he is something precious, as if he is important to the man and not just another soldier in the long list of names. None of it makes sense, all it does is cause a flutter in Jiyan’s heart, the little beast beating wildly against his ribs as if intending to escape. Desperately, he tries to squish the feeling down, this is so not the time to fall in love with his general, no matter how tempting it is, how easy it would be.

‘You already are,’ whispers his treacherous heart, only to be heard by no one. Jiyan will not fall so low as to admit that to himself or anyone else. Absolutely no one needs to know.

***

Hours pass, Jiyan just doesn’t know how many exactly. In addition to the heat radiating off of Geshu Lin, who seemingly is set on melting him into a puddle of liquid, there is a patch of warmth insistently shining on his face. At least he now knows for sure it isn’t nighttime. It isn’t the reason he had woken up. The pain in his wounds is burning agonizingly through him, lighting each and every one of his nerves aflame. His current position puts too much pressure on his stomach, and the tears that gather in the corners of his eyes are entirely involuntary. His breathing is shaking, silent gasping for air. It doesn’t really help. He tries to carefully wiggle out of the general’s hold, desperately needing to change his position before the situation gets even worse. 

Safe to say, Geshu Lin isn't exactly agreeable. His arms tighten around him, and he nuzzles into Jiyan’s neck. While his hold doesn’t hurt anymore with how high above the wound it is curled around him, the taste of blood floods his mouth where his teeth had sunk into his own cheek. It hadn’t been his wisest idea, but it kept the sound that tried to escape his lips at bay. Geshu Lin is way too close to his tacet mark, and it is becoming increasingly obvious that as long as the man remains slumbering, he will never get out of his hold - unless he struggles enough to fight free and cause himself more harm than good in the process. 

“General!” he screams, not loud enough to alert whoever is patrolling the hallways, but enough to get through to the sleeping beauty.

Geshu Lin is up in an instant, halfway off the bed before the scream even finishes. It takes the man a moment to verify the situation. Jiyan hears him stand there, utterly silent. He uses the moment of freedom to his advantage, carefully adjusting himself until he is flat on his back. It still hurts quite badly, but compared to before, it is like day and night. Eventually, Geshu Lin sits down on the bed again, grumbling lowly under his breath. The words “What the hell was that for?” barely make it to Jiyan’s ears before fading away. A small chuckle escapes him as he imagines the expression that has surely settled on the general’s face. Oh, what he would give to be able to see it. The only answer to his laugh is the sensation of a heated glare on his skin. Frankly, it makes him laugh harder until he is choking on his own pained gasps. The warm hands are immediately on him, and as soon as he can breathe right again, a hand carefully lifts his head from the pillows, a cool glass of water pressed against his lips. He drinks greedily, the realisation of how thirsty he had actually been only dawning on him after tasting it on his tongue. Geshu Lin allows him to lie back down, and Jiyan takes a short moment to breathe before he says: “I didn’t want to wake you, I just saw no other way.”

Geshu Lin hums in question. Jiyan had never noticed how often the man tended to do that, just not bothering to give words to his thoughts. Perhaps he had just never spent long enough with him in such a peaceful context to be able to tell. Their meetings tended to circle around work and only work, this was as far from it as physically possible. Could it be true that what he is seeing is the man Geshu Lin is when he isn’t forced to wear his general’s shoes? Jiyan decides that he quite likes this version of him, frankly, he likes it a lot more than the man who is constantly angry. He really could sit in this room for the rest of the time he has left on this earth and just indulge.

“My wounds were hurting, and you wouldn’t allow me to adjust my position,” he shrugs. It truly isn’t a problem. He got off of his side in the end, and that is all that matters. The fact that his mind creates an image of a sheepish Geshu Lin is entirely classified information. It is, after all, both hilarious and so absolutely outrageous that it feels impossible. Jiyan purges it from his mind before he is forced to explain what is so tempting to laugh about, or worse, why he is hurting himself all over again like a masochistic idiot.

The general remains sitting next to him, opting to not lie back down. Jiyan can hear him stretch his body, bones popping quite loudly and that sweet, satisfied sigh that escapes him immediately after makes his own heart skip a tiny beat. Oh, to hear that over and over again. He would never tire of those small sounds, even if they make him want to crawl up the wall or bury himself so deep underneath the blankets that his entire existence is erased. 

Geshu Lin continues to shuffle around with something. Jiyan can hear him clear as day, but trying to make sense of his movements while utterly blind to them all isn’t easy, in fact, it is almost impossible. The man is seemingly wired to remain as silent as physically possible, and no matter the place or situation, he does so unthinkingly, perhaps he doesn’t even know anymore how to exist in any other capacity...

Jiyan is still comparing Geshu Lin to a cat in his mind, unashamedly busy imagining what he would look like lazing in bed with the sun shining upon him, to notice the light knock on the door. He only realises moments later, after the general rises and resolutely marches over to it. Geshu Lin must be in a horrible state! What is he even thinking, showing his face like this? Surely his clothes are wrinkled and his hair an untamable mess! He had slept in them, hell, even his boots had stayed on now that Jiyan thinks about it, the white strands had remained loose and filled half of the bed for sentinel knows how long, he might have been slumbering for hours! Jiyan opens his mouth to call out to the man, to chide him for not even taking care of himself to look presentable. Not a word of his escapes before the door is yanked open, and instead of a greeting, a growled “Report!” is all that answers who is behind it. As usual, General Geshu Lin doesn't give a single fuck about how he looks… or acts…

Jiyan doesn't listen in this time, doesn't bother to concentrate on the conversation at the door until a pair of light steps approach the bed. Only then does he start paying attention. They aren’t the subtle thud of the general’s boots, and frankly speaking, he is quite certain that the shoes included in the ranger’s uniform sound completely different as well. 

“Alright, out, both of you.”

Jiyan freezes at the sound of his mother’s voice. There is no way in hell he wants to be alone for this. The mere thought of Geshu Lin leaving him in this room with only her causes panic that he can't afford. He can’t seem weak to her, she would only tear him to shreds over it, would use any opening in his defence to pain him more than she already will. Without realising his hand is halfway up, reaching for the man. A harsh slap against it echoes in the silent room. He flinches back, wincing at the pain in his stomach that spears through him as an immediate punishment for moving too fast... He cradles his hand to his chest, holding it close, rubbing slightly against the stinging skin.  Despite the clear intention to remain alone with her son, Jiyan would rather remain blind for the rest of eternity than sit here like this. He would rather seem weak and take the pain with the support by his side, even if the man would later taunt him over it, than do it alone and give her freedom to do whatever she sees fit. Geshu Lin would surely keep her in check should she ever cross the line.

“General. Please stay,” he calls out to the man who had yet to move. The heated gaze burns into him from where he assumes his mother is standing. It is surprising she doesn't slap him again. He almost expects it. 

“That won’t be necessary, you have obviously burdened him enough already,” she hisses. The hand that is still feeling warm from impact trembles lightly against his chest. He sinks into himself, just wishing to disappear into the mattress and never emerge again. He really doesn’t wish to be here, anywhere but here. Oh, Sentinel above, he absolutely despises this. The fear that the general would leave paralyses him, he knows his breathing is a notch too fast, and if his eyes were visible to the world, everyone would see how wide they are. If he wasn’t stuck on the edge of this ravine, dangled over this certain doom by a single thread that is close to snapping, he would almost find it funny. The captain of the Midnight Rangers is more scared of his own mother than he is of TDs…

Geshu Lin merely scoffs, the sound so utterly loud in the freezing silence around them. Jiyan tries to swallow down the anxiety that threatens to suffocate him. Yet it only seems to get worse with the stretching silence in the room. Eventually, Geshu Lin speaks, and Jiyan realises that he must have been glaring at her long enough to cause the bout of stillness.

“You do not get to decide what burdens me, medic. He asked me to stay, I’m staying whether it suits you or not,” he says, his words almost a growl, “So do your goddamn job and stop wasting my time with your unnecessary theatrics.” Geshu Lin’s voice is freezing cold, taken over by the one tone that every single soldier in this camp never wants to hear because it means that they fucked up beyond help, it is that one he uses when someone makes a mistake so horrible that kissing the threnodian would seem like a good idea in comparison. It makes every soldier in this entire camp run - or cry, it makes them blind with fear. Jiyan himself is no exception, but he isn’t sure it would have the same type of effect on his mother. He hopes it does. The thought of her finally being afraid of something in return, someone who is set on protecting him, is a good feeling. He quite likes it. In fact, he could almost get used to it.

She doesn’t answer the general, instead, she tells Jiyan to sit up. He tries, gritting his teeth through the pain, giving his absolute best. His muscles shake almost violently. Just before they buckle underneath him, warm hands grab his shoulders. Geshu Lin’s strength aids greatly, helping him up as if he weighs nothing. They both ignore the unbelieving huff that comes from his mother. The general even fluffs the pillows and props them up, leaning Jiyan against them, manoeuvring him with so much ease that he feels like a doll in comparison. Out of her sight, he taps his fingers thrice against Jiyan’s side before stepping away once again. It isn’t the first time it has happened, it probably isn’t the last either. After each duel, it is three taps of his blade against Jiyan’s thigh before he tells him to get up, always three flicks against his forehead if he has done something dumb, always in threes, but never before has it been quite so gentle and random before. It confuses him, yet now is not the time to demand answers to the hundreds of questions swimming in his mind. He swallows them all down. Later, when this is all over with and they are alone again, he’ll ask about it then. 

He hears her moving around, the small click of her bag snapping open erases everything from his head, and Jiyan freezes into position. He barely dares to breathe and resolutely keeps his head facing straight ahead. Hell, he almost forgoes blinking as well, staring emptyly into a single point without seeing anything. 

He expects pain to come with her touch, she hadn’t exactly started the greatest track record with her entrance after all. Yet she treats him as if he were any other patient. Efficient hands unwrap the bandages around his eyes, the cloth falling away one loop after another. Soon enough they are bared in the face of the world. Absolutely nothing changes. He expected something, anything . Most blindness cases after all aren’t a hundred per cent type of deal. But of course, he gets the short end of the stick. It ain’t pitch black, not entirely, but he can’t tell the difference between lights and shadows, he can’t even differentiate silhouettes from the rest of the world. It’s just nothing, just this endless, varying grey sea that swims in front of him.

There is no room for weakness in her presence, you do not give ammunition to someone who would turn the barrel towards yourself. 

He takes a deep breath, staring into a randomly chosen point and pretends as if there had been no life-changing discoveries. He doesn’t dare to move, who knows, maybe it isn’t permanent, but looking around too much would cause more damage. He doesn’t get to sit still for long before the cold fingers dig into his jaw and twist his head around as if he were a mere doll and not a human being. He hates the feeling when it comes from her. Geshu Lin had made it seem almost like a loving thing, as if he cared deeply for his comfort. She, on the other hand, makes it clear that he is just another worthless thing in her life. As if she couldn’t wait to toss him away. Despite that, he doesn’t object even though she is definitely being harsher than usual on purpose. She might be shining a light in his eyes, but it makes no difference besides them stinging slightly. She lets go of him, and he can hear the resolute click of her medical bag snapping closed. Finally, she gives voice to the thoughts she had so far kept to herself.

“So, did you wish to end up six feet under, or was it your master plan to make yourself a useless burden for the rest of us to begin with?” she hisses, her voice absolutely ice cold. 

“Because congratulations, you succeeded in fucking up spectacularly once again.” Each one of her words cut through him like a heated knife pierces through butter. He doesn’t want to stay here and listen, he doesn’t want to hear a single thing she has to say to him. He knows she doesn’t love him like she used to, he doesn’t need to hear it! Jiyan tries to swallow down the lump in his throat, tries to blink away the wetness gathering in the corners of his eyes. He just wants to go back, have Geshu Lin’s arms around him and not worry about a damn thing in this world. 

“I told you, you would achieve absolutely nothing as a soldier, you’re just wasting everyone’s time and resources while playing pretend like a little boy.”

She takes a deep breath as if set on continuing her spiel. All Jiyan wants is to just cease to exist, sink into the bed and never emerge again. Luckily, he doesn’t have to plan any escape routes, before his mother can utter another word, she is cut off by a low voice.

“Enough! I will not hesitate to deprive Jinzhou of her favourite medic should you continue to disrespect my best soldier.”

Geshu Lin’s words burn as hot as his flames do, cut just as sharply as his blade. The man knows terrifyingly well how to wield his weapon and tongue both to a deathly precision. Jiyan knows he is serious, no one would be able to stop him if he sees fit to murder someone in cold blood. Yet he is also absolutely certain that the man would ask him first. As strange as it is.

The noise his mother makes is one he has never heard from her before. In fact, he would almost classify it as a splutter. It is undignified in ways she has never allowed herself to be. Jiyan wishes he could see her face, surely it would be worth all this damn pain she has put him through for the sake of her own sick amusement, or whatever else drives her to be so cruel to her own blood and flesh.

She rises from the bed, and he can almost imagine her head held high, trying to cover up the moment of weakness that had been clear in her act. He had seen her do it over and over again after all.

“When he eventually grows tired of a broken whore and discharges you, don’t come crying on my doorstep. You did that to yourself.”

With that, she marches off, the door closing behind her and the bandages she had unravelled still lying in his lap, wounds open to the warm afternoon air and salty tears that slowly trail down his cheeks, burning at them. He wishes he could ignore her harsh words, wishes that she still loved him like she used to. She used to sing to him, hold him close when he scratched his knees, and braid flowers into his hair because he liked them so much. And now she wouldn’t do any of it even if someone paid her to. War inevitably changes people, he just wishes it hadn't changed her so drastically. Oh, what he would do to have her back like she was before. To hear her once more say that she loves him.

The sound General Geshu Lin makes is, by all means of academic classifications, an animalistic growl. Pure anger seems to radiate off of him, the loud hum of his forte coming to life as a result is almost deafening. Jiyan had never before heard the man as enraged, he had always had a short fuse, had threatened even murder, but never before had his mood been so loud and clear.  Jiyan forces the small hitch of fear in his breathing down before the other man notices. He knows it isn’t he that is at fault, but it is a difficult thing to convince himself of. The general either pays him no mind or writes every sound he makes off in the name of the tears Jiyan is stubbornly trying to keep at bay. Despite his best efforts, they continue to trail down his cheeks. The man’s steps are loud, purposeful - if it were anyone but General Geshu Lin, Jiyan would say he was intentionally stomping - as he marches to the door and calls out to the nearest soldier patrolling the hallways:

“You! Get a competent medic here right now or you'll be scrubbing floors with a toothbrush until you can see your goddamn reflection on it!”

His mother must have heard it, but it doesn't help. He knows that the insult would have hurt her, she took pride in her work after all, but it does little to ease the pain in his own heart, it doesn't make him feel any better. It just leaves him numb.

Jiyan hears a weak “Yes, sir!” and everything falls into silence. The door closes, and mere moments later, the bed dips as the general's weight settles next to him and warm palms close around his face, Geshu Lin's thumbs carefully wiping away his tears. It makes him want to cry harder. It is a horribly taxing endeavour, trying to gain control over it, even more so, and eventually, he just lets himself slump against the general. He ignores the pain that flares in his side as a result, ignores the sharp sting on his face as he buries it into the crook of Geshu Lin’s shoulder, hiding against his warm neck. The man’s arms wrap around him instead, cradling him so close and just holding him. Geshu Lin is… well, Geshu Lin and whenever Jiyan is near him, he feels safe. So utterly protected from the worst of the worst in this world. Even now, he keeps him secure, allowing him to just collect himself with no judgment. The fever that seems to be rising again makes thinking hard, so he opts to not do it at all, just allowing himself to melt into the general, he lets the sensation of the warm hand running up and down his bare arm, the other rubbing small circles into his back soothe him into a light slumber, the tears keep slipping down his cheeks even as he sleeps.

He wakes to the sound of Geshu Lin's voice calling out something, but the specific words remain a mystery to him. When the door opens, he figures it might have been “enter”. The general had manoeuvred them into a better position. They were both lying down now, one of his arms wrapped around Jiyan's shoulders, holding him close, the other thrown over his own stomach, the tips of his fingers drawing nonsense patterns onto Jiyan's hip. It takes a moment for the realisation to dawn that his leg is thrown over one of Geshu Lin's own. And the general hadn't bothered to save face like before…

Jiyan flushes bright red, embarrassment spreading over his skin like wildfire,  but his first attempt at escaping quickly reminds him that there is too much pain brimming in him for such fast movements, and he gives up, slumping back against the man even though his skin remains flushed and his hands are covering his face. It’s the least he can do. Geshu Lin only laughs, the sound loud underneath Jiyan's ear. Yet he loves the rumble of it, he is prettiest when he is happy, Jiyan knows so for certain, even though he never quite saw the man laugh or smile. Just hearing it is enough to convince him.

The general squeezes his arms around him briefly, the touch comforting, before he helps him up. Or, well, manhandles him as he wants, and Jiyan lets him, not even trying to object. Call him a hypocrite, but he doesn’t mind when it is Geshu Lin who does it, the man has privileges he isn’t even aware he holds. Jiyan isn’t about to tell him either… He can imagine that taunting grin pulling at his lips, the one that promises something he isn’t sure whether he craves or wants to avoid at all costs. Geshu Lin would take advantage of that weakness, indulge in that knowledge with every fibre of his being, and Jiyan would rather save the last of his crumbling reputation before letting that happen to him. 

The strong arms wrap around him once again, and Geshu Lin remains sitting behind him. In fact, he pulls Jiyan back down so he is leaning heavily against the man’s chest. He expected it to hurt, but surprisingly, the small pang of pain is tame. The warmth, that deep rhythmic breathing gently jostling him, that damn air that keeps brushing against his skin like a deadly temptation, it is torture disguised as comfort, yet he doesn’t want it to end either. He would rather sit at the fountain and gulp down every last drop of the offering like a man dying of thirst. 

The medic that approaches the bed doesn’t say a single word, they merely clean the wounds on his face, carefully checking over them all and smearing some kind of salve onto them before re-wrapping the bandages around his head again. Their movements are swift with practice, it is clear that they know exactly what they are doing - must be one of the senior medics. They peel away the bandage around his middle as well, it has stuck to the wound in some places, and Jiyan can’t help the quiet whimper as it is soaked free, the pull of it still hurts. The sting of the alcohol in the disinfectant makes it only worse. His muscles contract without his orders, tensing up as if ready to flee, a soft hiss of breath escapes from between his teeth and the only thing stopping him from pulling away from the pain is that sweet warmth behind him - and the tight hold of Geshu Lin’s arms around his chest... 

The process isn’t pretty, he keeps flinching at every touch against his stomach, and the resulting soft bounding of his headache where he had accidentally jerked it back and managed to slam it right into Geshu Lin’s face keeps reminding him of it. Eventually, it is done, yet the wound is an irritated mess that keeps trampling its feet, burning in agony at being disturbed long after the touch has disappeared. A couple of pills are dropped into his hand, and once he throws them back, the rim of a glass is pressed against his lips. He drinks his fill, settling down against Geshu Lin again when a single drop more would seem like a drop too much. The wait for the painkillers to kick in is longer than it has ever been before. The fact that it is not and he is merely being impatient is something Jiyan will refuse to acknowledge till the end of time itself. He keeps his eyes closed under the bandages, relaxing into the warmth, and when the agony starts to subside, it isn’t long before sleep becomes a sweet temptation. Still, he remains awake, listening in on the conversation going on around him.

Geshu Lin’s voice is surprisingly soft when he demands a report from the medic. It is a far cry from the harshness of before, no longer does it remind him of winter winds that seem to cut like millions of tiny knives, if anything there is a note of exhaustion in the man’s tone, one so well hidden that Jiyan is almost sure that he had imagined it in the first place.

“The infection has passed, all wounds are well on their way to healing. There is a remnant fever, but I’m sure that will break soon as well,” she says. Jiyan can hear that soft smile in her voice that always spreads over the older woman’s lips. How the horrors hadn’t wiped that out over all of the years is a mystery he doesn’t even want to ask about. But she is a damn good medic and Jiyan gladly trusts his injuries into her care.

“Considering how stubborn he is, he will be up and about by the end of the week, sir,”

“His sight?”

“Nothing to be done, sir.” Her voice adopts a small note of sadness. Jiyan knows the feeling, hates it with a passion, in fact. When something is wrong and there is nothing that you can do to help. It tears at your heartstrings like an insistent child, begging and begging and over and over again, you have to tell it that you can’t help. He feels sorry for her, more so than he does for himself. He hasn’t quite wrapped his head entirely around it, but he will eventually.  

“Alright, you’re dismissed.”  

Jiyan nods softly towards where he expects the medic to be, whether it is a thank you or goodbye, not even he knows for sure, perhaps it is both. She wishes him a speedy recovery, and a small smile stretches across his lips in answer. Her steps depart, soft against the floor, and the door clicks closed behind her. 

Geshu Lin helps him back down before reaching for something further away. The shuffling picks back up, the harsh scribble of a pen rushing across the paper and their shared breaths the only sound in the silence. Jiyan listens to them, and the question slips past his lips before he can even think it through. 

“Are you doing your paperwork in bed?”

Geshu Lin merely hums as an answer, and the writing continues. Jiyan laughs at the absurdity of it all. The image of the General of the Midnight Rangers sitting in his bed, waging war upon a stack of papers, is one he never thought to be reasonable. The man had always been strict about the cursed enemy remaining in his office and not a step out of it, for him to bring it into his personal bed…

“I would have thought you, out of everyone, would insist on a proper desk.”

“If I could insist on anything, I would ban paperwork and you out of everyone should know that,” the man grumbles and Jiyan can’t quite help the small smile on his face as he curls deeper against the man’s side, soaking in his heat like a lazy cat. 

 “Guess you can’t make me do it for you anymore.”

“Don’t tempt me, I might just find a way.”

“I hope you don’t…”

***

In the end, the medic’s prediction rang true. Jiyan’s fever broke the same night, and by the end of the week, his wounds barely bother him to the extent they did before. Except that healing comes with a very different set of problems. Geshu Lin leaves more often, being forced to attend to his duties as the general. He still fills all of his paperwork in bed, and even his barely existing office hours are heated whispers at the door of his room rather than where they should be held. Yet his duties leave Jiyan sitting all alone in the room more often than not, with no entertainment. No one dares to visit him, and if he would usually spend this time of rest and respite with some well-placed reading, he can’t even do that. On occasions, he has considered forcing the patrolling soldiers to read to him, but he discards the idea as soon as it presents itself. Geshu Lin would make them all a head shorter for abandoning their posts, whether it was because Jiyan asked them to or not is entirely irrelevant.

The boredom isn’t his only trouble either. The mere thought of sleep is starting to disgust him. He feels like a tiger that has been locked in a cage, a goldfish stuck in a matchbox of an aquarium. His limbs beg to be moved. His body is physically incapable of mindlessly lying around like a doll in a glass casing by now. The only times he has left the bed are for the bathroom, he hasn’t even been graced with a proper shower since he woke up. Geshu Lin has been taking care of that, wiping him off with a wet rag, to not aggravate his wounds. The rational part of his brain continues to scream that it is normal, it is for the best to avoid another bout of infection that would mow him down even more thoroughly. Yet more than anything in this goddamn world he craves to move. The damn pain that is starting to settle in his bones and joints is caused by nothing else but this endless torment people call rest. And despite it all, he doesn’t dare to bring it up to the general.

He continues the simmering in this pot of suffering until he can’t take a single drop more. The fact that Geshu Lin had left for a meeting hours ago and is therefore incapable of talking Jiyan out of actually going through with his ideas is all the opening he needs to grasp the chance he has been offered. 

Gingerly, he shuffles to the edge of the bed. The wound in his abdomen has closed properly, only stinging a bit as he moves, none of this paralysing agony that had graced him before. It is still sensitive, but nothing that warrants unending bed rest. He is a medic for the sentinel's sake, he isn’t going to do something that would break him. He isn’t made out of glass and every single second he spends in that bed is going to piss him off even more. Jiyan has no idea how long he has had to bare the damn piece of furniture but it has most certainly been way too long. His bare feet touch the cold ground, and the knee-jerk reaction to pick them up sends a small bang of pain up his side. Jiyan takes a long moment to breathe through it before trying again. He is careful this time, laying his feet down slowly, like submerging them into water that is way too cold. The floor is absolutely freezing compared to the sweet warmth of the bed - the fact that it is its only redeeming quality in Jiyan’s eyes at the moment does nothing to change his mind. He ignores the rising goosebumps on his bare skin, the single pair of underpants and bandages doing little to retain the warmth of his body. He pays no mind to the small shiver that runs through him.  Jiyan forces down the singing call of temptation to curl back up under the warm blankets for only the heat that they offer. No, he will not succumb to this. He is a Captain of the Midnight Rangers, and a mere cold will not take him out like a small child!

Resolutely, he plants his feet on the ground and rises. His legs are wobbly, and his balance is that of a baby deer, the constant bedrest having accomplished its task, but he remains upright, and that is all he could ask for. He hates the feeling of nothing around him. It feels like he is merely floating in the void, as if there are no borders to the room he has been kept in. He knows rationally that they are there, that somewhere there are walls and doors and even windows, but the emptiness between him and them feels like it goes on for hundreds of miles, as if it never ends. 

His hands remain stretched in front of him, ghosting over the air, searching for anything but this endless nothingness that greets him. With each trembling, fearful step that he takes, he never allows his skin to part from the frame of the bed, constantly brushing against it with his calf to orient himself - or at least try to. The few times he had parted from the bed, Geshu Lin had been right beside him, his strong arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him so impossibly close that his cause for stumbling had almost exclusively been the other man. Yet he had kept Jiyan upright, not once had he fallen. His hand had always been clutched between the general’s long fingers. It hadn’t been even half as horrible when he had someone to lean on, to trust to keep him safe and guide him where he needed to go. But this? This is a whole different brand of torture.

The bed inevitably ends, and he must choose where to go next. He turns towards the window. That had been the side with the sun, after all, surely there is a desk or something near that, and perhaps with that comes even something grounding or interesting. Carefully, he shuffles forward, following the width of the bed, but that is a mere moment of peace before he is surrounded by nothing at all. He doesn’t dare to lift his feet from the ground, and the tiny steps he takes cause a long time to pass before he pumps into something. He trails his fingers over the smooth wood, and a breath of relief escapes him. He made it. 

There is a chair behind it, and he sits at the edge of it, gently running his fingers over the rest of the desk. There’s a pen, a bunch of papers -probably the paperwork the general has been constantly filling - and a small carved statue. Carefully, Jiyan picks it up. His fingers run across the ridged back of what he thinks might be a tiny dragon. Its little horns are sharp, its paws so tiny that he is afraid of breaking them off by merely touching them. Someone had taken a knife to a piece of wood and created such magnificence without wavering once. Not a single mistake could be felt along its body. Something so detailed would need surgical precision. Wherever that little beast had come from, the person behind its existence was an excellent craftsman.

He doesn’t know how long he has been sitting there, just trailing his fingertips across the little thing as if it were a cat. His thoughts entirely revolve around it. He wonders if it has been painted over, or does it remain with the beautiful swirls of natural wood forever etched into its skin? Is it perhaps the golden hue of Jué that covers its body instead? He most certainly loves the little thing, his heart warm as he presses a gentle kiss against its tiny nose before placing it back where he thinks he got it. Geshu Lin would surely know that it has been moved, but it is intact, in perfect condition, surely the man won’t be angry with him. Despite it, he should probably get into bed before the man gets back, who knows how big of a lecture he would deliver if he were to find Jiyan out of it. The dragon, at least, wouldn’t be instant. 

Jiyan rises and turns to leave, yet he quite violently slams against the corner of an open drawer, rattling the entire desk. He stumbles, and his attempt to catch himself is unsuccessful. His hand soars through empty air instead of finding the edge again, and his knees hit the floor painfully. Something teeters off the desk and shatters against the ground with a loud crash. Jiyan yelps at the sound and begs in his mind that it wasn’t the tiny dragon that he had broken. It takes him an embarrassingly long moment to realise that the little carving had been wooden, yet what had shattered had been glass. His cheeks tint red even though no one was there to witness his blunder.

Hesitantly, he moves his hand towards where he expects the pieces to be, yet he still manages to nick himself against the sharp edge of a shard. The pieces are rigged under his touch, and he is reminded of the wavy whiskey glass that often occupies the corner of Geshu Lin’s table in his office. Jiyan hadn’t realised that he had moved it along with his paperwork. Had this been the one pressed against his own lips repeatedly as the general helped him drink? Well, there is nothing he can do about it now but clean up after himself.  He tries to find the edge of the desk again, and when his fingers finally grip it, he leaves them there. With the other hand, he tries to pick the shards up, doing his best to keep them from cutting into his skin again. He is too occupied to hear the door open behind him. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

The unexpected sound of Geshu Lin’s voice startles him. He drops the glass shards he had gathered with a small yelp, and they shatter into even tinier pieces. Some of them draw blood as they slip from his hand, and instinctively, he lets go of the desk to grab for his injured limb, not even realising that it spells instant doom for his balance. Geshu Lin’s strong fingers digging into his shoulders are the only thing that keeps him upright. Tears brim in his eyes, and he buries his face between his palms. The copper taste of smeared blood against his lips only makes his shoulders tremble more as silent tears escape him. The general only sighs. Jiyan can feel him crouch near him.

“I didn’t mean to break it, I promise!” Jiyan tries to force the waver out of his voice, but it betrays him spectacularly. It makes everything only so much worse.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.  Why is he still keeping him around if he can’t even do something so simple on his own? He can’t even walk from the bed to the desk and back without ruining something so irrevocably. He hates how helpless he feels without his eyes, how damn clumsy he is. His mother truly is right as always, he is just a useless burden, making Geshu Lin’s life more difficult for absolutely no reason. He should resign. The man could finally go on like before without having to worry about a worthless mess. The General’s fingers wrap around both of his wrists, prying them from his face gently.

“Why are you even out of bed?” 

“I just wanted to move,” he mutters, face turned towards the ground. His hands tremble in Geshu Lin’s hold. He still doesn’t know what exactly he broke or how valuable it was. What if it wasn’t a drinking glass? What if it was sentimental? A huge part of him expects there to be a fight, growled taunts, perhaps even insults, anything to make Geshu Lin’s displeasure with him clear. It doesn’t come.

“Alright, we’ll see about that,” the man concedes instead, and Jiyan can’t quite help the surprise that paints his face. His lips remain slightly parted even as Geshu Lin’s arms wrap around him and he is hauled off the floor as if he weighs nothing at all. The general doesn’t even grunt . The only sound in the room at all is the tiny squeak that escapes Jiyan at the sudden loss of certain ground underneath him. In two long strides, they are back at the bed, and Jiyan is seated on the plush cover of it. He curls his legs up underneath himself, hissing slightly at the frozen toes pressing into his thighs. It takes him a moment to settle as he listens to the general move around the room. He can hear the broom sweep across the floor and the unceremonious dumping of shards in the trash. There is no hesitation in that act, and Jiyan breathes a bit easier. Perhaps it wasn’t important after all.

Geshu Lin exits the room after that, his steps disappearing towards the bathroom, and for a while, Jiyan can’t hear anything but his own breathing and the insistent ticking of a clock somewhere in the room. The general is back before he can miss him. 

Jiyan recognises the telltale sound of disinfectant wipes being opened, and carefully, the general cleans the small nicks in his hands, wiping away the blood on his face.  Geshu Lin wraps a gauge around his hands. Jiyan doesn’t comment even though he can tell that the job is clumsy, most likely looks horrible and will certainly unravel faster than expected. The sentiment means more to him than any of that, and as long as they do what they should, even if only for a short while, then surely nothing else matters. The man takes away the most likely bloodied bandages from around his head, with gentle hands, he turns his face a bit, looking the wounds over and leaves them be, instead rising from where he had kneeled in front of Jiyan and marching off.

Jiyan can hear a lot of sounds, but piecing them together doesn’t really work. He keeps trying to make sense of it, but he doesn’t reach a conclusion before a heap of something is dropped into his lap. He touches his exposed fingertips against the material, recognising the clothes almost immediately as his own.

“I had it stitched back together and cleaned, so it should be fine to wear.” The comment is offhanded, as if it were no problem, but considering that Geshu Lin tended to burn his own clothes that had been intact, just badly stained into cinders for no other reason than that he couldn’t be bothered to wash them repeatedly. Hell, he was the general, he could tell anyone in the army to wash them for him, and no one would complain. And despite it all, he had done it for Jiyan.

He fears that getting dressed would be difficult without his eyes, yet it takes him merely a moment to realise that his muscles remember exactly what they are supposed to do, and there are zero problems with the entire process. He doesn’t count the uncomfortable pull on his stomach as he raises his arms above his head to be one. Geshu Lin shoves him back down on the bed as soon as he buttons his pants up. He can hear the man drop onto his knees in front of him, he can feel the warm palms scalding against his parted thighs where they are resting. His mouth dries instantly, an almost violent shiver runs through him as the man’s hand trails down his calf. He is absolutely certain that he is red in the face, definitely more so than a tomato. Jiyan swallows, but the sound is so loud that he wishes he hadn’t. He can’t really help the small flinch when those warm fingers caress against the bare skin between his pants and socks, his jaw trembles in a shaky inhale as he bites back the quite improper thoughts that the mere knowledge of General Geshu Lin on his knees in front of him brings to life. He pushes one of Jiyan’s legs into a boot and secures it before moving to the other one. By the time he rises from the ground, Jiyan’s heart is still violently hammering in his chest, and he is absolutely certain that his hand still trembles when the general takes it and pulls him up again.

“I could have done it myself,” he whispers. He is almost certain that the man reads him like an open book, that he is teasing him like this on purpose. 

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Jiyan continues to grumble under his breath so silently that he barely hears himself, even then it is more for show. Geshu Lin knows it, there is no way in hell he doesn’t. 

“Come on now, time for that walk of yours.” Geshu Lin hooks their elbows together and pulls him forward with no warning. Safe to say, he stumbles right into the man. His shoulders are actually quite sturdy now that Jiyan’s throbbing nose thinks about it.

“Warn a man, will you!”

“I did.”

“Three seconds before is not sufficient!” 

“Whatever you say,” there is a slight hitch in Geshu Lin’s breath, as if he wanted to add something but chose not to after all. Jiyan hums once, but the man doesn’t grace him with another word, instead, he drags him off out of the room. It is clear that Geshu Lin is used to long and purposeful strides, fast rushing and not slow strolls. He is forced to keep pace with Jiyan, the poor captain too scared to take a proper length step, his hand that had been saved from the general’s grasp stretched outwards and he drags his feet close to the ground, moving them in front of himself in a small arch hovering just above the ground before he places them down. Jiyan’s knuckles might be turning white from the force with which he is holding onto the general, but even if it bothers the man, he makes no comment on it, merely leading Jiyan down the hallway as if nothing is wrong. Jiyan hates this endless unknown around him. His hands are short, and using his toes as his eyes is a slow process.  He despises that he knows he is burdening the man for nothing.

It is unexpected when the man swipes him off his feet, turning around on his heel and carrying him back towards the way they came from. Did he tire of him? Anxiety grips his heart in its hold, strangling him with the worry that claws at him. They don’t stop in front of the general’s room, though. Instead, the man strides past it and turns a very different corner. It is almost impossible to tell where they are when his feet are finally planted back on the ground. A gentle hand pushes him backwards until he is leaning against a wall.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

True to his word, Jiyan can’t even properly panic before the door next to him clicks open again and Geshu Lin returns to his side. He wraps Jiyan’s fingers around something wooden. It’s long, and while he knows the weight of it by heart, he has never wielded it in his left hand before.

“What the hell do you think I need a practice sword for?” 

“Use it to feel the ground around you. We’ll get you a proper stick, but you’ll have to make do with this for now.” Geshu Lin shrugs. Jiyan can feel the movement where the general has taken hold of his arm again.

“With a wooden sword?”

“I could give you a real sword if you want to, though I’m not sure how that would be better.”

“It wouldn’t, you absolute lunatic”

Geshu Lin laughs, his free hand messing up Jiyan's hair as he does so. He tries to swat the man away, but the general merely tightens his hold on his elbow and renders him immobile. For a moment, he thinks whether it would be worth it to drop the sword and go after the man with his other hand instead, but he buries that thought soon enough. It would be too easy for the general to evade him anyway, and he is almost certain that not a single one of his moves would even brush against the other.

“Oh, come on, kitten, no need for claws.”

Jiyan, as expected, flushes three different shades of red at the nickname in an instant. He is certainly doing it on purpose, there is no doubt there. If this endless teasing goes on for much longer, Jiyan will not promise to remain alive and well for the duration of it. General Geshu Lin will most certainly be the death of him.

“You're doing it on purpose, aren't you?”

“Doing what?”

“Teasing me…”

“You're one of the only ones in the entire force that doesn't tremble like a newborn foal in front of me, can you fault me for indulging a bit?”

Jiyan freezes, he had never thought about it like that. Others had always lectured him about defiance and insubordination, he had always worried that his honesty was something the man hated. Instead, he seems to revel in it. Jiyan had never realised that Geshu Lin might have no one who sees him as anything but the general… or that he even craved it, to begin with. He was always so strong and fought like nothing in the world mattered, his words always harsh and his orders even colder. He had no one, didn’t he? He opens his mouth to answer, but none of the words on his tongue feel right. Instead, he pulls himself loose from the man’s hold and does something utterly insane. The wooden sword clatters loudly to the ground as he throws both of his arms around the man’s neck, pulling him down. For a long moment, Geshu Lin remains frozen in his hold, and Jiyan wonders if he should have moved at all, but then the warmth wraps around his waist, and Geshu Lin buries his face against Jiyan’s neck. He mumbles something additional under his nose, but the only word Jiyan catches is “pretty”. He hums questioningly, hoping that he will repeat himself, but he remains utterly silent, just standing between his arms. Eventually, Geshu Lin pulls away and hands the abandoned sword back to him.

The general takes his arm and, without a single sound, drags him off again. As ridiculous as it surely looks, Jiyan is grateful for the sword. It makes a huge difference in his confidence, and his steps grow longer, surer of themselves with each one he takes. He almost wants to laugh jubilantly as he successfully sidesteps something lingering on the floor. While it is a great aid inside, it proves to be absolutely invaluable when they leave the camp behind, and he is dragged over to the uneven ground of nature. Because, of course, the general drags him outside. He isn’t really sure where they are heading, but the path is narrow and, as is common for the area, rocky. Their pace is slow, back to the unsure fear that he had displayed before. He knows that Geshu Lin could have been to the destination at least five times already, maybe even ten, if he wasn’t waiting for Jiyan. It leaves a bitter taste in his throat and a sharp stinging at the corner of his eyes. Will there ever be a time when he could once again stand proudly next to the man and be worthy of being there? Probably not… He fights the darkness of his mind off, he doesn’t say a single thing. He doesn’t have to. They both know that he is burdening the general on every step of the way, saddling him with tasks that should never have been his problem, to begin with. He can’t wrap his head around why the general insists that it is okay. Why does he even bother? There is nothing to gain from a useless man beyond repair - and the general has never made a single move that wasn’t calculated with a well-thought-out reason in mind. It bothers him to no end, questions burning on the back of his tongue, yet he is sure that giving voice to them would do nothing. He would merely get an answer that tells him absolutely nothing, and there isn’t anything he can do about it. After what feels like forever, the ground evens out, rocks melting into smooth plains, and Geshu Lin slows them to a stop.

“Sit down and listen.”

Jiyan does as ordered, slowly lowering himself to the ground until he is sitting cross-legged on what he guesses is one of the small hills around camp. His fingertips - the only part of his hands saved from the poorly wrapped bandages that are starting to unravel from around his wrists - move near him, ghosting over grass blades and some kind of flowers in full bloom. The wind dances around them, dragging his hair with it and messing it up worse than what the general has surely already achieved. But it is gentle, hugging him like an old friend. Oh, how he has missed this, the free air softly humming in his ears. The frequencies he can sense within it speak of nothing but silence and peacefulness, just a soft sound that echoes around him almost silently. There are TDs somewhere, but they are far enough that, as of now, they pose no threat.

He can’t feel the warmth of the sun on his skin, and he is certain that the sky must be clouded over, hiding it from sight. In the distance, a bird sings, melody like a flowing river swaying in a dance that only the winds can see. He feels horribly embarrassed when he realises that he knows those birds - they are one of the only ones to sing only after nightfall, filling the lonely darkness with their voices until the sun rises once more and they turn back to rest.

Had he bothered the man when perhaps all he wanted to do was to sleep the exhaustion of the day away? Had he forced him to dance after his tune once again? Oh, how many theatrics the general had to bear because of him…

“I brought you here to calm down, not to chew your lips off,” the man grumbles, flicking against his forehead three times in quick succession. Jiyan winces, but his train of thought halts as he pouts up at the man still standing over him. He can taste the blood from his lips on his tongue. He hadn’t even noticed…

Geshu Lin doesn't say a thing after that, seemingly falling back into his own mind, and eventually, Jiyan's thoughts wander as well. They don’t fall down the same rabbit hole, but perhaps that anxiety burning at him until he crumbles under its weight would be better in a way. Because, like an addict, his thoughts trail back to the man in front of him. And just like an addict, he is incapable of shaking himself free from the shackles.

He wishes he could stare at the stars above him, but more than that, he yearns to lay his eyes upon the man in front of him. To see the moonlight reflecting off of the general's snowy hair. He imagines the beauty of this glittering glory, the man's golden eyes would surely almost glow like precious gems. It must look magnificent, and he mourns that he can’t let his eyes drink that sight in greedily. 

Jiyan forces the thought down, there are enough burdens on the general’s shoulders with him being blind as a bat, he doesn’t need to add a foolish schoolboy crush to the list - because that’s what it is, isn’t it? Just a simple soldier who allowed his admiration for his strong and capable general to morph into something totally out of bounds. He can’t even admit it to his own face - not even thinking about saying it to the man himself - that it is deeper than that, that in some twisted way, he isn’t even fighting for Jinzhou anymore, no, he is picking up his blade because his general demands it of him. Because that voice, that rough drawl, just as warm, as dangerous as a fire crackling in the night, gives him an order, and the heat it ignites in him keeps him going even when all he wants is to collapse and never wake up again. Just because those golden eyes look at him, and all he can think of is to not give in to the weakness in his knees. He hates that it is no longer viable, the fire of war has burned away the bridge that would allow him to fulfil those orders ever again. And still, he wishes, begs to be allowed to stay.

The melancholy that settles upon him is heavy, clouding his mind, leaving him to swim silently alone in his thoughts and wondering when they will turn against him and try to force his head under the water until he can no longer breathe. Wordlessly, he lies down, hoping that perhaps it will ground his flighty train of thought. It isn’t the dirt underneath him that gets the job done, no, it is the small movement in the night and the warmth of another body lying down next to him, so close to him that thinking just becomes impossible in the best way possible. Trust Geshu Lin to solve a problem he wasn’t even aware of. 

He can feel hair tickling his jaw, and he is certain that it isn’t his own. They stay there, the two of them alone in the world with not a single thought of anyone else between them. Just them breathing in tandem, even Jiyan’s mind ends up silenced - perhaps because its occupants are running around in his head, like a dog chasing its own tail instead, incapable of making any solid thought cross the threshold - at the feeling of warmth against his arm and shoulder. It lights a fire in him that burns away the darkness, it sparks that happiness inside him, makes him want to laugh until he is breathless. The man can be doing nothing at all, and Jiyan is a fool, falling deeper and deeper into the pit he has dug himself. There truly is no escape from Geshu Lin, even when he is immune to the visuals now - against his will, mind you - he is far from immune to the man himself. Death might be the only cure for that after all. He will love that man like a loyal dog for the rest of his life, won’t he…

It takes a while before he hears shuffling from his side, and the hair against his jaw moves slightly. He can feel the pinpricks of Geshu Lin’s stare on his face and out of courtesy - or misplaced reasons he doesn’t know how to name- he turns to face the man. He can’t see him, but it feels right to return his gaze even though his own eyes are dull and empty in comparison. His excuses are weak even to his own ears, but that thought filters out as soon as it arrives. Jiyan flinches when his nose brushes against the general’s, his face heating up, red as a ripe apple swinging in the autumn storms - AGAIN. 

“You really should be in bed…”

Jiyan isn't exactly proud of the images his brain supplies at the general's soft words, whispered into the wind. There is nothing wrong with his tone, yet his mind fills with thoughts that he would never dare to utter out loud. He blames the heat of the man’s breath wafting against his lips, so close yet so horribly far away, tempting fate like a damn curse. He shakes the thoughts from himself, instead, he turns his attention back to the actual words that have been uttered to him.

“And why is that?” he dares to ask, his voice barely loud enough to be heard in the night, his courage comes with a slight tremble in his words that he doesn’t manage to subdue quite as successfully as he wishes he could. All he has left to do is pray that Geshu Lin chooses to ignore it.

“Maybe because it is two in the morning.”

If Jiyan's jaw hangs open like a surprised fish out of water, that is between him, the sentinel and sadly, the man who will find a way to use it against him in the future. Geshu Lin chuckles lightly, but as Jiyan continues to stare at him, it turns into full laughter. The beautiful sound echoing around them and he is almost certain that the damn admiration is so clear on his face that it could be called heart eyes and no one would be able to refute it.

“I guess my internal clock has been a bit messed up…” He whispers. He doesn’t see the questioningly raised white eyebrow that mocks the pair of words “ a bit” with a burning passion. 

“That's why you need sleep, you're the medic here, I shouldn't be telling you these things,” the man grumbles once he remembers that Jiyan won’t actually be able to tell the expression on his face.

“I'm not a medic anymore, " he retorts out of habit. It is not the first time they have had this conversation, after all. Something tells him it will most certainly not be the last either. Geshu Lin would call him a medic just for the sake of arguing, after all, just to tease. He wouldn’t need a single reason more.

“Well, not a medic, get up.” Jiyan hadn't even noticed when the general had gotten up himself, so the only warning he gets is warm fingers around his forearm before he is yanked up like a weightless doll. Safe to say, he stumbles right into Geshu Lin's arms, almost crumbling against his chest. He huffs.

“I told you to warn me.”

“I did, and I counted to four, so you can't really complain,” he laughs, the sound resonating against Jiyan's ribs where their bodies are pressed closely together.

“Oh fuck off.” he gives a lighthearted shove against the general's shoulder, Geshu Lin doesn’t take him seriously for a moment. They both know he didn’t really mean it, and even though he would never admit it out loud, there is no point in hiding either. The general may be many things, but he isn’t stupid, and every man and woman is an open book in front of his burning eyes. He doesn’t comment on it either, just opting to whisper the teasing words - “What a strong language.” - against his forehead.

“I learned from the best.”

“Of course, blame the cruel general for corrupting your innocence.”

Geshu Lin's words are accompanied by a brief strengthening of his grip on Jiyan's waist before he lets go and takes his arm instead. He mourns the touch almost instantly, craving to have those warm fingers digging into his skin again.

“I never said it was you.”

“We both know you didn't have to,” Geshu Lin shrugs. Without another word, he pulls Jiyan forward again. They walk back in total silence. He listens to the sounds their steps make, the soft whisper of their breaths echoing in the empty hallways. The urge to drown himself in a warm shower sneaks up on him before they make it fully back, the idea roots itself in his mind, and the mere thought of lying back down without washing is as if someone had stabbed him. He doesn’t open his mouth before the door of the general’s room clicks shut behind them.

“How bad are my wounds?” 

“Why are you asking this now?” the man demands, confusion etching itself into his voice.

“I really want a shower, but I'll refrain if it will compromise the injuries.”

“At 2 am?”

Jiyan nods sheepishly. He knew it was late, surely the general wanted to sleep already not play a babysitter to a cripple, yet the mere thought of a wonderful hot shower, the feeling of water cascading down his body. How heavenly it would be to finally scrub everything off of his skin and feel fully and utterly clean for once. He can’t get it out of his head, it keeps swimming around, demanding attention. How could he go back to bed and not drown himself in warm water first? How could he go back to how everything was if there could ever be even the slightest chance of a proper washing session?

“You can shower, they are all fully closed,” he sighs eventually, possibly after giving him a full look over. He sounds exhausted, and Jiyan promises himself to be as fast as possible while still getting it all clean. He really doesn’t want to bother the man more than he already has, he just can’t bear it anymore.

Geshu Lin takes hold of him, pulling him along towards the bathroom door. Once they enter the room, he lets go of him, standing behind him instead, before reaching over, wrapping his fingers around Jiyan’s wrists, forcing him so close to Geshu Lin. He can feel the man’s breath ghost against his nape, swaying the hairs there.  Slowly but surely, he guides one of his hands to the wall, before slightly nudging him with his knee to step forward. He slides Jiyans fingers across the glass door of the shower, leading him inside, teaching him the controls, showing him the shampoo and soap bottles, before pulling him away again,  introducing him to the rest of the room in the same fashion. He points out every nook and cranny, admonishing him against hurting himself. It takes a long time before Jiyan is intimately familiar with every piece in the room, everything from the towels to even the smallest of details he could think of. 

Nauseatingly fast, the man twirls him around, facing him instead, before he promptly shoves Jiyan down until he is seated on the small stool next to the shower. Those long, warm fingers ghost right above his skin as they go after the small hook at the back of his neck before they lower, and his shirt is drawn over his head.  Part of him wants to protest, he is no child who can’t undress himself, yet the other side of him does nothing but revel, oh, to have the General of the Midnight Rangers undressing him, unwrapping him like a prize, trailing his hands over bared skin with admiration coating each of his touches. Jiyan sinks his teeth into his own tongue as his punishment. Not the place, not the time. Get the fucking memo , he soundlessly growls to his mind.

Geshu Lin’s hands do come after his body, but not for the skin as his sinful thoughts oh so readily suggest, no, he goes for the bandage around his midsection instead. Loop after loop, it falls away, baring more of his skin to the man’s gaze. It shouldn’t leave him feeling like this, the general had spent at least a week in his company while he wore nothing but his underwear and a few bandages. Hell, the man had washed his skin, trailed that cloth over almost every millimetre of his body. And now, sitting shirtless in front of him is what brings a slight flush to his skin. The deft fingers unfurl the mess around his hands as well, turning them this and that way, before lowering them back onto Jiyan’s lap.

“All scabbed over, they shouldn’t be a problem,” he declares, rising back to his feet and turning away from Jiyan. Before leaving, he looks over his shoulder and says: “Shout if you need anything, alright.”

The door closes with a soft click behind him, and Jiyan is once again utterly alone. Slowly, he gets rid of the rest of his clothes, shivering a bit at the cool touch of air around him. Getting into the shower proves to be the scariest part of the whole endeavour. His mind keeps wondering what would happen if he stumbles again, what if he falls like he did before? Would there be anything that could break? Adjusting the water temperature to be perfect, on the other hand, comes easier, he almost freezes himself to death at first, but he manages in the end... After that, it is a smooth ride. It is surprisingly easy, he had been sure it would be harder. Sure, he can’t see the results, can’t verify that no dirt that might cling to his skin remains, but that only gives him a reason to meticulously scrub over every inch of his flesh twice. Eventually, he ends up sitting on the floor anyway. He had thought about getting the small stool for a moment, but had buried that as soon as it came. He’ll wash over his body once more - the third time is the charm, as they say - so might as well indulge in comfort. 

His legs are crossed underneath him, his hands shampooing the teal strands pooling in his lap. Perhaps he should cut it short. Caring for it has always taken a lot out of him, and now he can’t even see if he has been successful. Perhaps he should ask Geshu Lin for scissors. When he finally finishes, it might be closer to 3am. Yet he feels as if he has been born anew. Not even the slight bang of embarrassment at making the man wait needlessly is enough to take it away from him.

He tries to wring all the water out of his hair, going over it twice, inch by inch. It is almost pointless, he could go over it tens of times, and some droplet would still find a way to flow down his skin, soaking him all over again. He wraps the towel around himself and sits down on the ground again, leaning his head against the small wall surrounding the shower floor. His hair is spread over it behind him, water still seeping out of the strands as he sits there and allows his skin to air dry. A knock that comes at the door makes him look up.

“Did you drown yourself in there?”

“Absolutely!” he answers cheerfully, giving it a moment before continuing with a soft laugh: “No, I did not, can I have some fresh clothes to sleep in?”

The general doesn’t answer him, but he can hear his footsteps leave, so he lays his head down again. It is a gamble when he is teetering on the edge of sleep, yet it is something he is willing to risk anyway. Geshu Lin won’t let him spend the night on the floor of his bathroom, of that he is absolutely certain. As he should have expected, the door opens without another knock, but he doesn’t bother moving. 

“You don’t exactly look alive lying around like that.”

“I feel alive, though.”

Jiyan lifts his head and starts wringing out his hair all over again. Despite having already done it - repeatedly, mind you - the water still flows freely. 

“The clothes are on the stool that you are so graciously neglecting. Leave the towels wherever, I’ll take care of that.”

With those words, he turns on his heel and marches off again. The door closes, and Jiyan leans his head against the glass door of the shower instead. Eventually, he picks himself up from the floor and gets dressed. Just in case he pats his hair down with a towel, despite it, the stubborn strands are still leaving water droplets running down his skin. He gives up on that fight. He had never won it in his life to begin with, and nothing will change that.

Slowly, he makes his way to the door and opens it, he picks a course that he thinks might be the way towards the bed and walks over, his hand stretched out in front of him, trying to locate potential obstacles that might attack him out of nowhere. He waits for the general to tire, for him to grab after him and lead him where he needs to be, but not a single word comes out of the man’s mouth. If Jiyan couldn’t hear his breathing, he would think that he had been left all alone. Eventually, his shins hit the edge of the bed and he sits down on it, curling them up, hiding his cold toes under himself. The bed tips on the other side, and he looks over his shoulder to face the man.

“Eyes forward.”

He turns back without a word. Thoughts run around his head, wondering what would happen, why couldn’t he face the man? The comb that moves through his hair is entirely unexpected, and he can’t quite manage to suppress the small surprised flinch. Geshu Lin doesn’t comment, merely working through strand after strand until each and every one of them has been taken care of. Jiyan opens his mouth to thank the general as soon as he puts the comb down, but forgets everything he wants to say as those long, warm fingers start braiding his hair instead. Seemingly nothing too intricate, but it is still a prim and proper one. Jiyan wants to laugh, the man could barely wrap bandages, the one thing that every soldier must know how to do, yet braiding hair is where his strengths lie instead. Who would have thought? Still, he relaxes into the feeling, and the insistent need to sleep tries to catch up with him all over again.

“Not yet, kitten,” Geshu Lin grumbles, tapping thrice against his face until he picks himself up again from where he had slouched. He almost misses the telltale sound that allows him to prepare. Still, he hisses as disinfectant wipes move over the wound in his stomach. The sting is enough that he forgets to even comment on the recurring nickname. The general bandages his waist again, and Jiyan must say that perhaps the man is just bad at wrapping them around hands, because the one around his middle is actually decent.  A hand brushes over his head, moving away the strands that were too short to reach the braid, from his face, smoothing them down - for now - soon they will dry and be all over the place, untamable even under the strictest of braids.

“You can sleep now.” Gentle hands pull him down to the bed, tucking him safely underneath the blanket. He is out like a light before he can even hear General Geshu Lin go to the bathroom to deal with the mess he has left behind.

***

They make a habit out of it, Geshu Lin drags him off every single day to walk him like a damn pet - not that he is complaining. The man drags him through all of the hallways, letting him count steps and, as it turns out, even going as far as writing them down for him, so when he forgets, the general reminds him. They don’t go out at two in the night anymore as  Geshu Lin had forced him to fix his sleep schedule, but Jiyan doesn’t really miss it either. Sure, the camp is loud as it bustles around him, but he feels more alive than he has in weeks. Like he is breathing again. Don’t get him wrong, sharing a bed with your general is nice, he wouldn’t give it up for anything if he could, but his body misses moving more than anything. As a warrior, it has grown accustomed to constant action, leaving it stationary so suddenly is a pain it can’t tolerate.

Jiyan’s confidence grows with each passing step and the time comes when he doesn’t grip bruises in the shape of his fingers into Geshu Lin’s arms anymore, when the hand holding his sword isn’t cramping by the end of their walk, when he can merely lean on the man next to him as a way to tell where he is and in which direction he should go. He learns, he adapts, and while it isn’t perfect, he doesn’t feel like a hopeless burden anymore, he doesn’t feel like he should have died that day. Knowing Geshu Lin as well as he does, he should have never expected the peace to last, in fact, he should have been suspicious a long while ago. Alas, he had allowed himself to lose his vigilance…

He is sitting on the bed, cross-legged and clothed, only his boots remain lying on the floor. He has his eyes closed, even though it makes no difference, he does so out of habit. No one wants to see dull silver where gold had once shone. The window is open and the sounds of training and nature filter into the room, soldiers' cheerful yells almost involuntarily lift the corners of his mouth... He listens and allows his thoughts to wander back to times when he used to be the one on those grounds, calling loudly to his comrades.

The door opens and closes, yet Jiyan makes no move to get up. The general comes and goes when he wants to, and they have so far stuck to a strict schedule. The time to go stretch his legs is not even near.

Geshu Lin had done his best to help Jiyan tell the time, hell he even found a cuckoo clock from somewhere, until they had both almost murdered the damn thing during the night and it had disappeared as fast as it arrived. Jiyan had laughed so hard that tears had streamed down his cheeks as Geshu Lin threatened the damn bird with burning while it still kept loudly announcing the time. In the end, Geshu Lin sent Jiyan’s terminal to the academy, demanding that they make it entirely voice-controlled or so help him sentinel above. Safe to say it has worked. 

Despite their schedule, the wooden sword is dropped in his lap, and the man stands in front of him, shielding him from the warmth of the sun on his face. He tilts his head questioningly, arching one of his eyebrows as he opens his eyes to at least seem like he is looking up to the man. Geshu Lin is not known for breaking schedules, in fact, he sticks to them with the stubbornness of a mule. Unless they are following one, just not the usual, and the general hadn’t bothered to brief him about the change beforehand. Now that is something the man has done dozens of times before, surely he would gladly do it again.

“Are we going already?” he wonders aloud, confusion etched into every word.

“Not for a walk, but yes.”

“Where-”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Geshu Lin interrupts him before he can even fully say anything. He pulls him up to his feet instead, leading him away and ignoring Jiyan’s confused mumbles the entire way to their destination.  

The general ends up dragging him into one of the training rooms, and Jiyan is left to stand there, confused out of his mind, with the sword still grasped between his fingers. His head is tilted to the side slightly, listening as Geshu Lin turns away from him and walks to the other side of the room. He keeps staring at the spot he assumes the general to be in now, but the room around them remains utterly silent.

“I want you to duel me,” Geshu Lin says eventually, and Jiyan can hear the tip of the man’s own wooden sword tap against the ground. Jiyan’s clatters to the floor as his already lax hold on the handle slips entirely. His eyes widen as he stares towards the man. His mouth tries to form words, closing and opening repeatedly, but nothing escapes from his lips. Eventually, he manages to collect enough of his wits to demand:

“With all due respect general, have you finally lost your goddamn mind?”

“There was nothing respectful about what you just said,” Geshu Lin laughs before he carries on:

“I promise you I am of sound mind. I want you to pick that sword back up and fight me.”

Jiyan opens his mouth to object, but the man interrupts him again.

“Use your other senses, no fighter relies only on their eyes.”

He can hear the man move, and instinctively, he turns his head to follow the almost inaudible sound of his boots. 

“See?” Geshu Lin laughs as if he had just proven his point, as if he didn’t sound just as insane as moments ago.

“Just like that, you know exactly where I am, you're staring me straight in the eye, so come on, fight me,” he goads, moving further, circling around Jiyan until their positions are almost reversed. 

Jiyan doesn’t believe for a minute that it will work, sure, he had learned to move around the camp with almost no help, but that is a long way off from fighting. He isn’t some fucking miracle worker as Geshu Lin seems to believe. Despite it, he picks up his sword again, settling into the stance that every fibre of his being knows intimately. His heart races in his chest, banging fervently against his ribs. That rushing of blood in his ears is the only sound in addition to their breathing before he hears Geshu Lin dash forward, and the wooden sword soars through the air, its almost whistling sound unmistakable. Running on pure instinct, he moves to parry. Geshu Lin's blade doesn’t meet his own, instead whacking him right in the arm. There is not enough strength behind the man’s hits to hurt horribly. It still won’t save him from the bruises that will certainly paint his skin come tomorrow morning. Geshu Lin doesn't give him a single warning before the wooden blade whizzes through the air again, same side, same trajectory. The bastard is giving him a chance to correct himself…  Jiyan moves his arm, adjusting the position slightly, and wood crashes against wood.

“That’s better!”

The praise is enough to motivate Jiyan to resume his position again, waiting for the man to move. They circle each other in slow steps before Geshu Lin jumps back in, his boots thumping against the ground, and the air moves again. Jiyan moves to protect his other side, and sword clashes against sword. As it does for the following three times. That gives apparently enough ground for the general to escalate, the angle of his next hit is not one of the basic moves beaten into every recruit, and wood hits flesh again. Jiyan groans slightly at the sting in his ribs. This is just an excuse to abuse him, isn’t it? The man is just pouring his emotions out on him in some wicked payback.

“Stop thinking about not seeing, you’re letting it cloud your judgement!” the man growls.

“I can’t guess what you’ll do next if I can’t see your body move!”

“You can if you stop using it as a goddamn excuse!”

Geshu Lin punctuates those words with another swing. Wood on wood. He doesn’t give a moment to breathe, his attacks coming in quick succession. Jiyan is eventually forced to jump back to collect himself. For the first time, he makes a move of offence. It is parried immediately - as should have been expected - but Geshu Lin reels in his speed and strength, settling back down to a more tolerable pace. Hit by hit, they continue. Jiyan lets the wind replace his eyes, thanking the sentinel above that his forte helps him read the air in the room. Without that knowledge, he is certain that the amount of bruises covering his arms, ribs, even his thighs and legs would triple. They are already numerous, not an inch of his has been spared from the general’s abuse. Yet it proves something, and perhaps that had been all Geshu Lin had been after. Jiyan is clearly no match against the man, he hadn’t been one with his eyes intact. On some of his better days, he might have been a challenge back then, but now he isn’t even that. Yet what he is capable of is so much more than he assumed to be even possible. 

His sword goes flying more times than he can count, yet it is thrust back into his hands over and over again, that low voice demanding another fight, another try out of him. And even when his body tires and his moves grow sloppy, his heart beats in his chest, and that high brims in his veins. Time after time again he follows the command, even when his hands tremble from exhaustion, he takes the position over and over again as that voice demands of him, and he does so with a smile on his face.

By the time Geshu Lin is done with him, when he finally gives him permission to rest, he collapses straight to the floor, gasping for breath that had been stolen from him. His sides sting from exhaustion, his hair sticks to his face where some strands had escaped their confines in the braid. 

“If I wake up tomorrow feeling like I was run over by a train, I’ll throw something at you,” he wheezes out between his desperate gulps for air.

“I’ll look forward to seeing how good your aim will be.”

Jiyan tosses his sword at the general, expecting it to not even make it to the man with how much his muscles protest. It doesn’t clatter to the floor, yet there is no groan of pain either. 

“Not bad, just predictable,” Geshu Lin laughs at him, and the pout on his lips does nothing to stop the man. Payback will hit that man in the back of his head when he least expects it. Jiyan will make sure of it. It would be something softer, though, he might crave revenge, but he isn’t needlessly cruel.

“Come on, sleeping beauty, up you get,” the man says, his voice weirdly cheerful, so different from the Geshu Lin he had known for all those years before the accident. He can’t ponder on it for long as a hand takes hold of him and hauls him back onto his feet.

“You really need to learn what proper warning times are,” Jiyan grumbles as the familiar strength once more pulls him flush with Geshu Lin’s body.

The man only laughs.

***

Their schedule changes after that, Geshu Lin apparently considers him ready enough and makes it a habit to beat him up almost daily. Jiyan thinks he might be getting better, the number of new bruises on his skin diminishing with every day, but at the same time, he has no idea of how easy the general is going on him. He wishes he would know for sure and not even two hours later he regrets ever even thinking that damn thing. Because of course Geshu Lin can read his mind, and of fucking course does he take it as a challenge to do worse. He makes the polite “request” to have Jiyan fight the recruits. Frankly speaking, he is absolutely certain that the man has lost it. Fighting with Geshu Lin himself is one thing, losing to him isn’t something to be embarrassed about, losing to a random recruit when all his time as a captain he has been far above them in his skills on the other hand, seems like a weird attempt on his life. Yet he has no room to argue with the man, no choice but to join their impromptu training session.

He hears the condescending whispers in the wind, the laughs and taunts that are thrown his way. They share the opinion of his mother rather than the general’s. Every single one of them is absolutely certain that a soldier with no eyes is a liability. Deep down, he agrees with them, at least on some level. Sure, he is better than they expect him to be, better than he himself thought he would ever be, but sending him to a battlefield is a risk that no one would ever take. Geshu Lin might be cruel, but surely even he knows that there is no strategic value in an act like that. The costs would far outweigh the results.

The general takes none of it, ordering them all to shut their damn mouths before he helps them with it. Silence immediately settles upon the training ground. Jiyan has no idea what is happening, but he expects Geshu Lin to be scowling. The man is in one of the worst moods Jiyan has seen since the accident, all short barks and even shorter fuse. Jiyan had heard him curse out a soldier merely this morning, but he hadn’t gathered enough bits and pieces to understand what it had been about.

“You! Take your sword and get in place,” he growls at one of the recruits, “Jiyan, join him.” He doesn’t notice the slightly softer edge in the man’s voice as he calls to him, too busy worrying his mind over the chaos that embarrassing himself here would mean. He would never be able to live it down.

There are chuckles among the onlookers, and they make him feel even worse. Geshu Lin snaps at them to shut up, and even though silence settles once more, he isn’t stupid, he knows that their eyes are filled with disdain, that their sense of superiority is clear to anyone with even a sliver of common sense. He hates it. He would rather be anywhere but here, yet the mere thought of letting Geshu Lin down is enough to keep him rooted, to keep his head held high even when he doesn’t feel an ounce of that confidence. 

He had been to the grounds after his accident, repeatedly, and he had mapped the entire area in steps, knowing it all by heart. Hell, Geshu Lin had demanded that they carry out their training here when they had fought yesterday, and his unusual request finally makes sense. He had known, had done his best to give Jiyan a chance to familiarise himself with the area even more. Slowly, he steps forward until his boots leave the grass and he steps upon the levelled area, halting exactly where he is supposed to be. In fact, he is almost certain that his feet are perfectly within the small red box painted on the floor to help fresh recruits position themselves at first. He listens around for a moment and turns to face the recruit in front of him. Hushed whispers can be heard around them, and even Geshu Lin’s pointed growl doesn’t subdue them entirely. He must have hit the mark after all. He takes the stance, forcing his violently beating heart to obey his command. His breathing is deep and even, and while the anxiety still gnaws at the back of his mind, he refuses to embarrass himself in front of sentinel knows how many recruits and the general. 

“You may begin.”

Jiyan waits for the other to make the first move, just listening, not even turning to follow the recruit's attempt at sneaking to his side. No, he faces straight ahead, knowing that it would be enough to lull his opponent into a false sense of security. He doesn’t have to stand by for long before he can sense the air moving and hears the sound of the sword falling towards him as the recruit tries to dash in from his side. He turns to face them, and wood clashes against wood as he parries the frankly basic attack. The soldier must be heavily underestimating him, certain that a simple arch would spell his victory. His next hits seem to get a bit more advanced, but none of them even graze Jiyan. Geshu Lin had, after all, been right as usual, someone as experienced as Jiyan didn’t fully require his eyes to function with a sword in hand. And every single one of them here is forgetting that even Yhan has succumbed to his blade before. In the end, he blocks each hit, and with each of them, his opponent grows sloppy. They are letting irritation cloud their judgment. So when the weapon soars towards him from the left, seemingly containing every ounce of the soldier’s strength, he twists out of the way and delivers his own hit towards the other. Wood hits flesh. A low groan is all that answers him before Geshu Lin’s loud voice echoes over the agitated whispering filling the entire area.

“Next!” 

He should have expected it, the man most certainly will demand that he fights every single recruit in here or carries on at least until he collapses out of sheer exhaustion. Soldier after soldier “falls” under his blade, and the confidence that surges inside of him as a result is unparalleled by anything he has ever felt before. He has felt pride before, known he has done well, but never has he done something so impossible before. He doesn’t let it get into his head, but it still feels absolutely exhilarating. The first few are the only ones that dare to underestimate him, after that it is clear to everyone waiting for their turn that their previous cockiness would have gotten them killed had this been the real deal. So each one of them is just a bit more challenging than the previous, some of them clearly giving their all and then some. If Jiyan had a say in it, he would guess that Geshu Lin is doing it on purpose, going from weakest to strongest. The last of his opponents is proof enough that he had been right. The man had been loud in his claims that he would win, and Jiyan wouldn’t dare to object, it was clear that the soldier knew well enough how to use a sword and make it dance in his hands. 

Safe to say the fight is a challenge, and it drags on and on.  Jiyan moves purely on experience, each step he takes, each hit he delivers is pure muscle memory. He will not give up on this now, he either wins or collapses while trying, there is no other option for him. At least it is obvious that the general hadn’t gone easy on him, perhaps at first, but their last fights had been quite like this one. Jiyan is damn glad for it. Happy that the man wouldn’t make an exception even for a blind man. 

He despises with burning passion that he can’t see whether there are any almost non-existent vacancies in his opponent’s form, if he overextends himself, moves out of balance, or leaves himself utterly unguarded. These are the small mistakes he would have immediately taken advantage of when he still had his sight to use, mistakes that would have cost that soldier his life had it been a true battle. Yet all he can do now is, by all means, gamble. There is no end in sight, and Jiyan's sore muscles are protesting each movement more and more. The healed wound at his side is pulsing softly with something akin to pain. He is uncomfortable, and more than anything, he just wants it all to end. It is clear that, like this, none of them will get far. So  Jiyan makes the reckless decision to attempt to fool the recruit, if he fails, he loses, if not, well, congratulations to him. He makes a move, pretending to attack from the side, he hears the man move to parry the hit, and as fast as storm winds, he twists his body to allow himself to change the direction at the last moment and turns the blade away from the original mark. The blow hits low, somewhere against the man’s legs and with a high-pitched yelp, he crumbles to the floor in front of Jiyan. The blunt tip of his wooden sword rests against the soldier’s throat for a moment before he steps back and allows him to get up. 

Geshu Lin says something to the recruits, and Jiyan hears his voice, but not a single word in that sentence filters through. His head is in shambles, slight buzzing in his ears, and the fast thumping of his heart seems to be banging against his temple instead of his ribs. Desperately, he tries to wrap his mind around the fact that he just took down a dozen recruits without even needing his eyes. He can hear the area around him fall into chaos, soldiers talking over each other like children in a candy store, he can hear their hasty steps as they filter out of the training grounds, but it is all muddled like underwater. With the silence that settles comes Jiyan’s ability to finally collect himself well enough to do something. He opts to glare daggers at the spot where he expects the general to be.

“Pray tell me, why are you using me to bully recruits?” he demands, his voice sounds exhausted even to his own ears, and there is a slight tremble in his muscles as they finally relax, but his head is held high, and he is staring straight at the man.

Geshu Lin moves, and Jiyan’s gaze remains pinned onto him as his head follows the slight shuffling until it stops again. The silence remains between them for long minutes before the general finally answers: “It's not bullying them, it's about showing them that every one of my decisions has a reason. No matter how outrageous, they should still be respected.”

Jiyan slightly leans his head to the left, confusion painting a slight frown onto his face. No soldier on these grounds has ever doubted the general, no matter how cruel his orders can be. Every one of them has walked into their deaths quite willingly, just because the man said so. What could possibly make him think that they needed proof? And why the hell would he use Jiyan to fulfil the duties of his own blade? Geshu Lin merely sighs, the soft thuds of his boots coming even closer to Jiyan until they stop right in front of him. The distance between them isn’t much as the air between them sways with the man’s breath. Jiyan opts to ignore that warm wind in favour of tilting his head enough to stare him in the eye.

“They dared to question why I would even suggest that the military advisor’s position should go to you, especially after that battle.”  Geshu Lin sounds pissed. No, scratch that, underneath the clearly simmering anger hides something else. He is tired. Beneath all of that  -perhaps it is only Jiyan’s mind playing tricks on him - the man reeks of exhaustion, as if the mere mention of the topic causes him turmoil that he would rather avoid entirely. Whether it is actually causing anger to burn with a flame inside him or it is a front he presents to the world is a question Jiyan doesn’t know the answer to. He almost opens his mouth to smooth the man’s feather before the general’s words finally catch up in his mind. Military advisor? HIM? Has Geshu Lin finally succumbed to this eternal madness surrounding them and paid the price with his sanity? His own mind is as if wiped clean, not a single thought filters through the emptiness. He has no idea how long he stands there, his lips slightly parted, eyes wide as he keeps blinking slowly at the man who is seemingly content allowing him to piece this absolute insanity together piece by piece. He opens his mouth a few times, trying to find words that fit, yet he still closes it again without saying anything at all. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to collect himself enough to demand lowly: “You want to make a blind captain your right-hand man?”

Why the hell does the general insist on making everyone question his sanity day in and day out? As if believing him to be normal is a sin against the sentinel himself! In what world does a blind military advisor make any sense to anyone who still has all of their marbles intact? Geshu Lin has made many decisions that Jiyan objected to, most of which he had still gone through with, but this? This is the hill Jiyan will succumb on, he will not let the man be enough of an idiot to make such a decision without a fight. He sighs loudly. Surely everything he thinks is clear in that single sound. 

“Have you lost your mind, general? Hit your head while I wasn’t looking?” he laughs, but the sound leaves a bitter taste on his tongue, one he never wants to flood his mouth ever again. There is a lump in his throat that threatens to choke him. His mind runs hundreds of miles per second, creating scenario after another to come even close to explaining why the man is like this. He can hear Geshu Lin inhale, as if to speak, but he cuts him off before he could utter a single word, insubordination be damned.

“How do you expect me to be of any use to you like this?” he asks, bewilderment clear on his face as he stares towards the man with his unseeing gaze. Oh, how he wishes he could truly see him, to look him in the eye and verify if he looks sane at all. He doesn’t sound like it. Jiyan almost expects the man to start laughing, calling him an idiot for even believing it for a moment. Yet he doesn’t, he stays silent, so infuriatingly silent. And the confusion inside Jiyan tempts to burst into anger, anything to get a reaction from him.

“There are easier ways to get rid of me, if you’re so tired of my presence, sir ,” he grits through his teeth. Perhaps Geshu Lin has never been fully sane to begin with, but the man had a reason for every move, and he refuses to back down without knowing why. Arguing with the man had always been a fruitless endeavour, one that would only bring grief and rage, but no change. Jiyan doesn’t expect this to be any different, but the mere thought of not trying at all sounds so much worse than whatever the man could ever dish out, of that he is sure. He won’t just accept it. He won’t sit down and roll over like a good dog. Not this time.

“That blind captain you speak of just wiped the floor with twelve capable recruits,” Geshu Lin growls, but it doesn’t hold the usual sharp anger that always dances off of his tongue whenever someone dares to question him.

“More importantly, he is not afraid to tell me when he thinks I'm being an idiot, even if he needs to whack sense into me by force,” he continues. His voice is still off, sure it holds a burning edge to it like a flaming blade in war. So similar to the usual anger, yet so utterly different. He sounds almost protective. Perhaps he had been forced to explain himself over and over again even before. If anything, it sounds like he is utterly tired of this entire argument. As if the rage in him is on the brink of breaking, and a mere word of Jiyan’s could bring that chaos forth. 

It melts away as suddenly as it came, the touch of Geshu Lin’s fingers against his jaw is so horribly gentle, so unlike the anger that had been in his voice mere moments ago. Yet now he holds him as if he is made out of glass, tilts his head upwards as if a mere wrong breath would shatter him. He is certain that his unseeing eyes are now looking into the general’s golden ones. For a long moment, they remain like this, staring at each other, breathing the same air. The caress on his skin feels almost electrifying, as if a spark has been lit where their bodies meet. Jiyan doesn’t think about it long - doesn’t get to - he doesn’t get to think about that small tremble dancing down his back, that silence that settles into his mind briefly before it starts screaming at him again, falling into chaos at a mere touch so innocent. Geshu Lin speaks before he can fully get his mind and body back under his control, they remain a slave to the man before him. Hot air whisps against his own skin, he can feel it ghost over it like a promise of sin.

“Tell me who else could possibly be equal to me, if not you?”

The general’s hold on his face sharpens briefly, fingers digging into his skin almost painfully before it relaxes again, caressing over the slightly stinging spot with such tenderness that Jiyan’s heart might have just as well stopped altogether. Geshu Lin is way too close, enough, that it makes it hard to breathe, hard to think about anything but the desire brimming in his traitorous heart to just close the gap, to press his lips against the general's, to allow that wildfire to consume him no matter the consequences it bears. He tries to brush it away, to drown it in the deepest parts of him, bury it six feet under until only a memory remains. He knows that it would be unwise to attempt it, no matter that he has every reason to believe that he isn’t the only one thinking of it. Those stray hands on his skin, how close the man always leaned to him, his hot breath on his skin and arms wrapped around him oh so protectively throughout the nights. Part of him still objects, it isn’t smart, it isn’t rational, yet he can't really help the way his body sways slightly forward, his lips almost brushing against the man in front of him.

All he hears is a slight hitch of breath as skin brushes against skin, he doesn't get it all right, pressing the kiss slightly too much towards the corner of the general’s mouth, but it still lights a fire in his soul. He didn't think anything could ever feel so... right. So utterly… like something he can’t even put into words

Geshu Lin drowns that sensation in freezing coldness. The fingers that had been cradling his jaw so gently wrap around his neck instead, the hold sharp and threatening. Jiyan is pushed backwards, away from the man before him, and the grip only tightens. He chokes on his breaths, unable to pull the air fully into his lungs and for a moment he is certain that the general will kill him, his hand clenches around the offending wrist, his nails digging into the skin there before the hold loosens, still bordering on painful, but not suffocating him anymore. He doesn’t let go of Geshu Lin either, not when the man shakes him slightly like a ragdoll, not when he all but growls in Jiyan’s face:

“What the fuck made you think that would be a good idea?”

“I-” he tries, repeatedly opening and closing his mouth, but it is all he can get out. The rest of it tangles in an invisible net, refusing to give words to the mess inside him. Only emptiness answers his desperate plea for answers, his mind doesn’t care to explain himself in the face of the general’s wrath. Indeed, why had he thought that it was a good idea to try to kiss him - especially somewhere so open? His heart is beating painfully inside him, each thump against his ribs like a stab, reminding him that the general was in no way the kind of man he had seemed like for this short while. How could he have forgotten so easily what Geshu Lin was truly like, how could he forget harsh words, cruel gaze, the man didn’t care for anyone but himself. Perhaps not even that. Had he truly allowed himself to be fooled like a lovesick bastard because the general helped him instead of discarding him immediately? Because he read between the lines and couldn’t translate any of it right ?

“You wanted me to sleep in your bed for weeks…” He whimpers eventually, trying to fight against the grip on his throat, desperate to lower his eyes, to hide his face away, to not give the man the satisfaction of seeing him break. Geshu Lin doesn't let him do it. His hold remains steady, not even budging.

“Just because I chose to keep watch over you instead of swamping my medics more than necessary doesn't give you any right to assault a commanding officer, ” he growls, his fingers clenching just a notch tighter. He doesn’t want to die, not like this. Jiyan digs his nails deeper into the skin. For a long while, he doesn’t notice that they come away wet, yet when he does, it startles him enough to release his hold altogether. He almost apologises, almost begs for forgiveness, but silences the words on his tongue. The man had put his hands upon Jiyan first, hadn’t he? What are a few papercuts compared to the pain in Jiyan’s heart? Why should only he suffer? 

“You held me like a lover!” Jiyan hisses back, he regrets the words immediately. Geshu Lin drags him upwards, only his toes touching against the ground. The man is so close to him when he growls:

“And what did you expect? That I sleep on the floor like your dog?”

Jiyan flinches. He tries to struggle out of the grasp the other man has on him, but it is all fruitless. He is pinned in place, forced to endure whatever the general has left to say, and no amount of fighting would amount to freedom. He could try to hurt him, but it would kill him. His own heart would never forgive him, and the general’s wrath would see a box of dust on his mother’s doorstep before he could finish what he started. He just wants this to end, just wants to sit in silence and pick himself back up from the ground, anything to even try to piece himself back together. But Geshu Lin doesn’t stop.

“Or perhaps you have been listening around the rumour mill, getting ideas, isn’t that right?” the man taunts, and Jiyan hates that he can feel the awfully familiar burning in his eyes. He can’t cry, not in front of Geshu Lin at least. The tears that threaten him don’t pay his begging any mind, still gathering in the corners, just not yet spilling. 

“Thought that perhaps I would fuck you like they think I already do?” He doesn’t shout, but it doesn’t lessen the pain, in fact, maybe it would be better if he screamed. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt so damn much then. But he doesn’t, instead, he digs into Jiyan’s flesh, into his soul, with a slow and steady knife, meticulously making sure that not a piece of him is left intact. 

“No!” He tries to argue, tries to explain, he hadn’t even heard of such rumours, how could they be the reason ? He hates the breaking of his voice, hates that it isn’t even hard for the other man to tear him to shreds like he means absolutely nothing to him. It was wrong of him to think that the man could ever feel the same towards him, that he could ever care for anyone in this damn world. Jiyan is just another worthless fool for him, isn’t he?

“Then what? ”  

Jiyan doesn’t answer him. He doesn’t trust that his voice won’t fail him, that the already obvious agony on his face won’t bloom into something that he can’t come back from anymore. He isn’t even sure that there are any words left that he could say, nothing comes to mind that wouldn’t just make it worse. Geshu Lin’s warmth, that once sweet loving comfort he could have spent an eternity wrapped in, is nothing but a sharp blade, wielded to chop away at him until nothing remains. The man does so gladly.

“General…” he starts, not even sure what to say, but still desperate to fix this. There isn’t much left anymore, merely burning embers that are slowly withering into nothingness and dragging Jiyan with them. But perhaps he still has room to at least try.

“You expect love? You want me to toss the entire army away and run selfishly into your arms? We will all die out here, and you want to play house?” The man’s hand releases him as suddenly as it had grabbed him, and Jiyan’s knees give out immediately. He crumbles to the floor in front of Geshu Lin, his head lowered as the tears brimming in his eyes finally spill, flowing down his cheeks, dripping against the ground. They seem so loud to his ears. They break something in him, shattering those shackles that had been desperate to save face in front of the man. He can’t help but cry openly, staring up towards the man as the endless tears trail down his skin.

“General, please…” he begs. He isn’t entirely sure what for, anything. He just wants the man to listen, to turn back from this freezing wrath that he spews. 

“You can’t even call me by my name!” Geshu Lin growls. He turns on his heel as if nothing happened. As if Jiyan wasn’t crying his heart out right in front of him. His footsteps grow distant, leaving him alone, crumbled to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. And the general had held the blade, picked it up and smiled as he shattered it all into so many pieces that whatever was left of Jiyan was finer than dust.

“Geshu Lin…” he whispers into the silence surrounding him. There is no answer.

It was foolish of him to hold this kind of twisted hope in his heart, to think that the man would see anything in him but a stupid soldier, good for nothing, who gave him way too many headaches with his insistent arguing. How many times had he pissed the man off? How many times had those golden eyes burned in an uncontrollable rage as he had stared at Jiyan as if he was set on burning him into cinders with his gaze alone? Dozens of times more than the man had ever smiled at him, had ever looked at him with warmth, had ever graced him with something else than anger and indifference. And he expected what? A love declaration? A sweet kiss and promises of a fairytale ending? How delusional could he be? Wishing for something so impossible that even the sentinel would laugh in his face.

Yet his heart clings to the warm arms that had held him close, the long fingers that combed through his hair, those scalding hot lips pressed against his forehead, that damn tilt in his voice as he called him “kitten”, the man kneeling in front of him, helping him with the tiniest things, the carefulness with which he had held onto Jiyan as he had sobbed into his shoulder. None of it meant anything to the general, did it? He wouldn’t have tossed him away like a broken doll if it did. He gave Jiyan a chance to feel so utterly loved, so important to someone for the first time in his life. Sure, Yhan had taken him under his wing since his mother had turned her back on him since his father had passed, but that was different, Geshu Lin's “love” hadn't been like that. It had felt like a heavenly blessing, only for him to tear it out of Jiyan's hands mere weeks later. It hurts worse than any physical wound he has ever suffered. That agony tears his heart apart like a vicious monster waiting to eat its fill. It is a hellfire that refuses to succumb, merely wishing to consume everything that is left of Jiyan. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to just not wake up when tomorrow comes? Would Geshu Lin regret what he said if Jiyan weren’t there anymore? Would he even mourn him? Would he celebrate that he got rid of that nagging that he always complained about? Would he laugh?

He doesn’t want to think about that. It hurts that he doesn’t even know the answer. Hates that he had been so sure how the man would react, only to get burned so badly instead. He had been so sure… yet Geshu Lin had proved just how horribly mistaken he could be with the rose-tinted glasses hiding the cracks. He hadn’t even bothered to think about the potential dark sides of his actions until it was way too late.

How long would the man have carried on if Jiyan had done nothing? Would he have held him each night for months to come, perhaps fallen in love on his own accord even? Jiyan ruined everything once again, didn’t he? Mother was right, mother had always been right after all, everything he touches, falls apart. It is all his fault. All of it. No matter how he looks at it, the only reason his life has crumbled to dust between his fingers has always been him. He ruined their happy family, he got his comrades killed, he was the reason his eyes no longer worked. How many more will die because he couldn’t even save himself and could never help them again? It was his fault that Geshu Lin shunned him, his fault through and through that the man didn’t love him. How could he ever love someone like Jiyan, someone so worthless, so whiny, so impossibly annoying? He had nothing to offer and expected there to be a reward? Oh, how could he be so stupid?

Jiyan kneels there for what feels like an eternity. He doesn’t move even when he can no longer feel his legs, he just stays there in the exact same position, his head bowed, hair hiding his face from anyone who could be looking. It has probably been hours since Geshu Lin left him here. He keeps wringing his hands, joints cracking every once in a while under the assault he graces them with. It hurts - barely - not even close enough to drown out the agony in his soul, but it helps. As do the countless half moons on his skin where he had sunk his nails into his own flesh, some of them painted red, he can feel the wetness underneath his fingertips, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

The tears on his cheeks dry, sticking to his skin like a cruel reminder of the pain he can’t shake off, no matter how hard he tries. His eyes keep staring into a single spot, just as unseeing as before. There is throbbing in his head, violently trashing against the walls of his skull, but he barely notices it. Hours pass, and not a single soul visits the area. No one bothers him, and he doesn’t even know how he is supposed to feel about it. He wants that quietness, too exhausted to come even close to managing humans, but at the same time, he craves comfort, craves arms around him like they are the air he breathes. It is tearing at him that he doesn’t even know how to exist anymore, doesn’t even know what he wants.  

Eventually, he can’t feel the warmth of the sun on his skin anymore, the light that had shone on his face disappearing deep beneath the horizon. Birds that never sing during the day open their beaks, screaming their news to anyone willing to listen. Shut. Up. Oh, how he wishes he could throw something at them, just to get that silence back, just so they would shut up. Instead, he grips his hair between his hands, tugging on the strands harshly until some of the teal hairs are left wrapped uselessly around his fingers. He doesn’t want to get up, doesn’t want to do a damn thing. Getting up means moving on, and he doesn’t want to leave that warmth Geshu Lin brought behind. He doesn’t want to leave and face the man with the knowledge that he could never hide it well enough what the general had done to him. 

Perhaps Geshu Lin would enjoy it, love the knowledge that he broke him. It wasn’t even hard to reduce him to nothing. Perhaps he would boast, laugh in Jiyan’s face and break him all over again, as many times as it took for Jiyan to just cease to exist altogether. 

By the time he finally staggers to his feet, his limbs have fallen deep into sleep and go numb almost immediately. He crumbles back down, hissing slightly at the impact that scratches his palms bloody. He can feel the red liquid drip down his hands, soiling the ground with their filth even further. He doesn’t mind the pain, but the needles that prick through him as nothing turns into buzzing, as if someone released hundreds of wasps underneath his skin… He hates the feeling, he tries moving his legs, tries his best to get them to listen, yet it still takes an awfully long time for them to obey him. Even then, the path to his room is arduous. He keeps bumping into walls that he should know exactly where they are. He had left the wooden sword on the training grounds, but he is too exhausted to even bother. Instead, he stumbles blindly, leaving bloody handprints smeared across the walls on at least a few corners. He apologises silently to the poor recruit who would have to wash them off instead of him. 

It takes almost all of the dwindling energy he has left to stumble into the bathroom. He washes his hands in the sink, picking all of the rocks free from his wounds that he can feel. He doesn’t even bother with the bandages, too tired, too numb inside and out, flopping down into his bed and begging for sleep to take him away, wishing to just not feel anything for a while. He should have expected it to be too much to ask even before the thought crossed his mind.

The sheets are freezing and despite all of his cruel words, despite the bruises that will surely bloom on the skin of Jiyan’s throat, despite everything the man has done wrong throughout his life,  he wishes more than anything that the general was here to wrap him up in his arms, to grace him with that sweet warmth that he had grown so accustomed to, to just allow Jiyan to love him. He doesn’t ask for anything in return, but he would give anything to be allowed back into Geshu Lin’s embrace, even if the man doesn’t care for him, even if he taunts him, is cruel beyond imagination. Jiyan wouldn’t care as long as that heat burned close to him. Yet the bed remains empty, no matter how much he tosses and turns, the material so cold against his skin that it feels as if he had been dumped into a rushing river in the middle of winter. The entire room smells of dust and disuse, speaking of weeks that no one had spent even a minute between these four walls that now seem to want to swallow him whole. This will be his punishment, won’t it? Sleepless nights and agony that will never leave. The fear of the dark that had seemingly passed will just come back with a burning vengeance again, won’t it? Jiyan won’t have anyone left in his life at this pace. Would Yhan take Geshu Lin’s side as well? They are old friends who had known each other long before Jiyan even joined the army. Who is he kidding, of course, Yhan would choose a long friendship over some stray whelp that had snuggled up under his wing…

He spends the entire night trying to find comfort in the eternal winter that had fallen upon him, yet he is incapable of feeling warmth, none of it in sight to lull him into sleep as the mere touch of him could have done. As the sun rises above the horizon and casts its rays inside his room, his eyes finally slip close and remain so. It can barely be called sleeping, the act so restless that when he wakes, it feels as if he hadn’t slumbered at all. He is exhausted. His mind twisted into knots that he can’t untangle no matter how much he tries. Lying here is just making it worse, allowing him time to think of things he doesn’t want to see or feel ever again. He needs something to do. He should at least be useful somehow, earn his place even a bit, no matter that in the end he is still useless. Perhaps there will be something he could do, no matter how small or pointless, there must be something between these cursed walls that could take his mind off of yesterday.

With a low sigh, he struggles out of the mess of sheets, only to hear something clatter to the floor loudly. Had there been anything on his bed last night? He thinks back to last night, no matter the instant bang of agony it brings forth. No, most certainly not, he would have kicked it off getting into bed or at least done so during the night with his endless tossing… Someone had been in his room as he slept, and Jiyan, who almost always woke up to the lightest of sounds, hadn't even noticed? How could he allow anyone so close to him like this? Had he buried the last of his survival instincts in the sand like a coward as well? Dread washes over him, twisting his stomach with unease as he carefully gets out of bed. Slowly, he kneels near the foot of it, ghosting his hands across it until his fingers brush against what had fallen. He picks the long pole up, tracing his fingers over its length carefully. It's thin, a lengthy dragon wrapped around the entirety of it, the little beast's head serving as the handle of the cane. It is most definitely a magnificent display of handicraft, carefully carved out of smooth wood. It reminds him of a certain tiny dragon that he had admired. Had the general really noticed that the dragon on his desk had held Jiyan’s heart between its tiny claws? Or perhaps it was a nod towards Qingloong? Their sentinel?

Tears brim in his eyes, trailing down his cheeks as he grips the cane to his chest like a precious treasure. He presses his forehead down against it, sobbing his heart out in pure agony. Trust Geshu Lin to tear his soul into pieces and then turn right around and gift him something so intricate and thought out. Why couldn't the bastard just choose? Why must he play with Jiyan like this? Merely breaking his heart wasn’t enough? No, he must burn it to ashes, so there would be no hope for anything in him anymore. Is his response to any kindness to try to destroy it, as he does with the Tacet Discords? Does he revel in the pain he causes to those around him? Does he love seeing them cry their tiny hearts out on his feet? He doesn’t know. Why doesn’t he know! He should! For the sentinel's sake, how can he love the man and not even know!

Jiyan gives up, sliding down the bedframe until he is lying on the ground, hugging the cane to his chest carefully, afraid of breaking it. Whatever want had been there to work had drowned behind the force of his endless tears. He doesn’t want to get up, doesn’t want to go out there and pretend he is fine when nothing in this damn world is fine. They would ask, demand answers he is unwilling to give. Maybe they would even taunt him, laugh over what a fool he is. Oh, how could a man so utterly broken even expect anyone to love him? He doesn’t want to see a single living soul. They will find him if they have a need for him.

He ends up falling asleep, dreaming countlessly of his own death, yet he finds that the thought doesn’t disturb him even half as much as it did before. He had been sure that he wouldn’t want to die, that nothing could tempt him to the other side. Yet now? He wouldn’t mind just not waking up anymore. Hell, he wouldn’t mind passing on the battlefield either, even if it means an agonising end, days of torture while they desperately try to put him back together despite knowing that the pieces no longer fit. That pain would be shorter than what Geshu Lin has forced him to endure for the rest of his life. 

He spends the entire day crumpled on the floor, not moving from there, even when his stomach protests loudly. He ignores it as it begs for food, ignores the thirst that burns in his throat. He grasps at the swimming in his mind that threatens to sink him into the sweet unconsciousness, begging that it will drag him down with it. Yet it escapes him again and again. He is left to spend the entire day just existing, trying to sleep, but most often finding himself unable to. The small bouts that he does slumber are minuscule and restless. The sun helps, but not even that can save him. And each time he does manage to keep his eyes closed, the sleep is filled to the brim with nightmares that tear at him as painfully as the reality. He doesn’t want to sleep, but he doesn’t want to be awake either. He just wants to not exist. For a long while, he contemplates sedating himself, but no medic would actually give him the necessary supplies and forcing them to do it for him would definitely reach the general’s ears. It is the last thing he wants. It would just make everything so much worse, especially if Geshu Lin thinks that he is trying to blackmail him with his own life or something equally as atrocious. 

The second day follows the previously set pattern almost to the T.  He only gets up for a bathroom break, a bottle of water and a few bites of food. The night passes similarly, with Jiyan fading in and out of slumber before the sun, out of sheer exhaustion that tramples him underneath itself. It is the longest he has spent asleep since he left Geshu Lin’s bed. He opens his eyes around noon, his body restless, thirst burning in his throat insistently again, and hunger gnawing inside him like a beast. He eats,  just enough to keep himself upright, yet it is clear that he can’t keep more than that down. The medic part of his brain keeps screaming at him, flailing his arms around for him to just stop this madness and to take prim and proper care of himself. He tunes it out. 

Jiyan manages perhaps a few hours of stillness before the restless unease catches up with him, and the mere thought of remaining on the floor like a glorified carpet is driving him up the wall. It’s as if someone had stuck him in a cage, barely big enough to stretch his feet through the barbs. Definitely not big enough to be comfortable. Eventually, he gives in and leaves, stumbling blindly out the door, the cane staying behind on the floor where it had been the unfortunate witness to his agony. He doesn’t know what he hopes to achieve, his mind is empty, all he knows is that he needs to find Yhan. The man is the only one in this entire camp whose presence he could bear. He doesn’t know what he wants from him for sure. All he knows is that he doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t want to sit and cry all over again. No, he wants to just forget everything, for a moment, no matter how brief, he just wants to feel like it is alright again. If the man could make him feel anything but this damn horror that consumes his mind for even a short while he has nothing else left to request. Maybe fighting would help? Surely the man will train with him if he has even a moment to spare. 

He finds the man in one of the training rooms - admittedly, he had been forced to ask someone for help, after he had wandered mindlessly through the hallways, realizing that finding a person you can’t see in a camp this size is entirely impossible - and Yhan immediately perks up as soon as the door opens with a barely noticeable click.

“Jiyan, my boy! What brings you here?” he asks, his voice cheerful and full of laughter. As if he is so glad to see him, so happy to have him around. It is almost painful to bear. If only a certain someone shared the sentiment, if only Yhan wasn’t the only one who didn’t mind his presence.

There is an extremely audible hitch in Yhan's breath as soon as he turns around to face the man, though.

“Sentinel above, you look dead on your feet! Should I take you to medbay?” He rushes over to Jiyan, his warm palms engulfing his shoulders in an iron grip as he looks him over, turning him carefully this and that way as if looking at him wrong would break him. He wants to laugh, tell the man that you can’t break something that is beyond repair. He doesn’t. Yhan is already worried - Jiyan can almost imagine it clouding his eyes as the older man frets like a mother hen - there is no need to further it by introducing him to the reality that plagues his mind. He will be fine with Yhan, none the wiser.

“There is no need, I'm alright, just haven't slept as well as I should have.” He shrugs slightly. “I was wondering if you would agree to a spar or four?” He tries to smile but drops it almost immediately. He can tell that it probably looked more like a grimace.

“I’m certain it isn’t a wise idea. I don't want you to get hurt because you're fighting in a state you shouldn't even be in,” Yhan chides softly, still holding his warm hands on Jiyan's shoulders and even though they are too cold compared to the ones he misses more than anything, the touch is comforting in ways he hadn't expected it to be. He almost feels like a human being again.

“Don’t worry, I was just hoping that it would tire me out enough to actually be able to sleep properly,” he sighs. He could laugh, try to paint a facade again, but he knows that the result would be no better than before. The older man would take a single look at it and know that he had been lied to. So Jiyan doesn't bother. He isn’t going to tell Yhan anything at all, nothing about what has happened and even less so will he bring up that he wouldn't mind some pain to bloom across his skin. Perhaps it would get that stubborn agony in his heart under control, remind it that no matter how it feels, it isn't the end of their world. They still have to carry on eventually. Perhaps physical suffering would help in ways that nothing else seems to. He doesn't acknowledge that he has already tried it and has seen no results.

“Alright, but I'm taking you straight to medbay as soon as I deem you unfit for sparring,” Yhan finally concedes. He mumbles something under his nose, but the words are a jumbled mess to Jiyan's ears, and he doesn't bother to find out what they were to begin with. Knowing Yhan, the man might have threatened to drag him off immediately anyway. He would do anything to escape medbay, it would reach ears that don’t want to know about him, and he refuses to bother the man with his theatrics more than he already has. Mother is right, he has burdened the general quite enough already.

To say that Jiyan is in horrible shape is the understatement of the century. Each one of their spars lasts mere minutes, Yhan taking him down swiftly without any trouble at all. Hell, he had probably been more of a challenge when he was still a green recruit, freshly joined. He doesn’t see the frown that deepens on the man’s face with each duel he wins. After all, Yhan doesn’t say anything. 

Jiyan's mind is frankly not in the fights at all, he keeps wandering back to white hair and golden eyes, words harsher than Yhan’s.  But he also recalls gentle hands and softly uttered praise. Inevitably, he makes mistakes he would have never made, mistakes that Geshu Lin would have chewed him up for, demanding whether he wanted to die on the damn battlefield so badly. Yhan merely sighs, retrieving Jiyan's sword after each time it goes flying. He can feel the man's worried gaze on his skin, suffocating like a cloud of smoke filling the room, but he just ignores it, getting back into stance, trying to force his mind into concentrating on the battle, to abandon the line of thoughts it is so set on wandering. It doesn't work as well as he expects. In fact, it doesn’t work at all... A sharp buzz in his mind makes his ears ring, and for a moment, it feels as if he is floating among cotton clouds. 

He comes back to consciousness lying on the cold floor. His thoughts are blissfully silent for once. Just nothing, no pain, no sadness, no despair. Just peace. Someone taps against his face sharply, and finally, Yhan's worried voice filters into his mind.

“Jiyan! Goddamn it! Are you alright?”

He nods slightly, though the movement makes his head swim even worse, nausea coiling in his stomach like a brewing storm. He lays it back against the ground with a low groan, squeezing his eyes shut even though it doesn’t change a thing. He blinks them right open again, afraid that Yhan would think that he had fainted once more.

“This does not look alright to me, I'm taking you to medbay,” he growls, but the worry clouds it, the sound so different from the last time someone used that tone with him. It still forces his heart to skip a beat before his mind manages to rationalise again.

“I'm okay, I just need sleep and food,” he mutters, closing his unseeing eyes for a moment, breathing deeply to calm his insides. Nothing seems to work well enough. He knows that food would help, that proper rest would help, but the mere thought of anything edible makes him want to throw up and he can’t fucking sleep.

“You said you hadn't slept, you said nothing about starving yourself! Have you lost your mind, Jiyan?”

“It doesn't matter, I promise I'll take better care of myself.” His words are muffled behind the hands hiding his face. He can't see Yhan's expression, but he expects it to be anything but pleasant at the moment. He can feel the worry mixing with anger waft off of him in violent waves after all. 

“Why?”

Jiyan hums in question. 

“Why are you even like this?” Yhan clarifies. He considers telling him, just spilling everything. Would he tell Geshu Lin? No, Yhan is someone who never speaks of things entrusted to him, especially if it is something as personal as this. The general won't hear about it. And if he does, then Jiyan will just have to accept the fact that he hadn’t known a single person in this camp as well as he thought he did. Losing Yhan as well couldn’t possibly hurt more than Geshu Lin, surely there was a line somewhere, a point where it couldn’t get any worse anymore.

“For a moment it helped, then it got worse again and frankly I don't even know what to do anymore…” he trails off, unsure. He doesn’t know how to put this into words, the only ones that come to mind all sound off somehow and too cruel towards Geshu Lin, even though the man hadn’t worried about that when he had dug his nails into him. Jiyan can’t help it. He doesn’t want to ruin a friendship that has lasted years with his pathetic whining.

“What the hell would I even do if someone tore me to shreds and told me to stitch myself back together with nothing for a thread?” he grumbles eventually, the words bitter on his tongue as he spits them out. It isn’t Geshu Lin’s fault that he doesn’t feel the same, but the man really could use a few lessons in tact and empathy…The insistent wrinkle between his eyes that seemingly refuses to let him be is present again, the words he had uttered drag that insistent pain back to the forefront of his mind. Why can’t he just get rid of it? Is he truly so weak? His muscles protest against lying on the floor, especially after he had forced them to endure the treatment for days. He struggles to sit up, his mind still swimming with the aftermath. He stays still until he is certain that he will remain conscious, only then does he move further, curling his legs underneath himself, leaning forward slightly to keep the nausea that tries to raise its head at bay. His eyes stay fixated on what he expects to be the floor, avoiding Yhan’s gaze at all costs. It is difficult without knowing if the man can see everything.

“Troubles of the heart?” Yhan asks softly. Jiyan merely nods. It is the most accurate description, even though reducing Geshu Lin to such feels utterly wrong. 

“You shouldn't seek out physical suffering just to escape from the emotional one.” 

Yhan’s hand smooths his hair out of his face, and Jiyan lets him. For a moment, it makes everything just a tiny bit better in the grand scheme of things. He knows it will get worse again, that he is merely deluding himself if he believes it could ever get better...

“I know, I just want it all to stop,” he whispers anyway. The hand that Yhan had placed on his shoulder after he sat up squeezes sharply. Had Jiyan’s thoughts really been so obvious? Or was the old man just so adept when it came to reading between the lines? He had reached a somewhat correct conclusion after all.

“Don't you dare lay a hand on yourself, Jiyan!” Yhan's voice trembles, as if he is truly afraid that he will wake up one day in a world with no Jiyan in it. As if the thought scares him witless. Strangely enough, Jiyan finds the thought comforting. So there is at least one person in this world who prefers him among the living…

“I wouldn't do it, not intentionally,” he whispers, hoping that it would be enough to placate the other.

“I just wouldn't mind if it happened,” he shrugs eventually, “It's that or suffering for as long as I serve.”

“You should keep your distance from them, makes it easier to overcome,” Yhan says, his voice all soft and gentle, as if he is afraid that even the smallest of things could shatter Jiyan between his arms. 

“I'm sure that the general would assign you wherever you want should you only ask,” he carries on. If there was anything else he wanted to say, it gets swallowed underneath the surprised laughter that escapes Jiyan.  

“That would definitely be counterproductive,” he huffs, still slightly breathless, a grin etched onto his face for the first time in what feels like forever. Yet just the thought of asking the general for permission to change his schedule enough to avoid the general himself… The face he imagines the man would make almost makes up for the trashing he would get should he dare to even open his mouth.

“ The General? General Geshu Lin?” Yhan's voice rises in agitation. Jiyan is sure that he has thrown his hands up because the warmth on his shoulder disappears for a moment before it comes back down. Yhan shakes him slightly as if trying to put wisdom back into him with the force of it. He stops almost as soon as if remembering that Jiyan had been flat on his back mere moments ago. 

“Go big or go home,” he smiles lightly. 

“I should have known,” the older man mutters under his breath. It still takes him a long moment before his attention snaps back to Jiyan.

“What did that bastard do?” Yhan growls, the tone threatening in ways that Jiyan had never heard before. He might be a strict teacher, but he was always a sunshine too. He had never gotten angry at anyone, even the most idiotic of his students were dignified with endless patience and encouraging smiles. For Yhan to be so pissed, so endlessly enraged just for Jiyan… He doesn’t know how to feel about it, but one thing is clear, the man has most certainly earned his honesty. 

“Broke me.”

Jiyan swallows down the lump in his throat, closing his eyes and leaning his head back so he is facing the ceiling instead. It helps with the tears gathering in his eyes. When will this end? He doesn’t want to spend the remainder of his life bursting into tears when someone so much as mentions Geshu Lin. How come the thoughts that had brought him comfort were all soaked in agony now? Will he ever get better, or is he just going to be stuck in this endless rut?

“I'll fucking kill him.”

“Don't!” Jiyan shouts, frantically scrambling to get up from the floor. “It's not his fault, he isn't obligated to love me!” he begs. Yhan has to listen, he can’t just... no.  The hands on his shoulders are tightly gripping his skin, pushing him back down. He struggles against the hold, anything to get out. Sentinel above, he really shouldn't have told Yhan anything. He needs the man alive, even if Geshu Lin hates him, even if he treats him like he is nothing, he could never exist without him in his life. Yhan can’t take that small sliver away from him either. He won’t let him!

“Breathe, Jiyan!” the man commands softly, and when it doesn’t seem to work against the panic, he crushes Jiyan into a smothering hug instead. For a moment, he struggles against Yhan’s hold, but eventually, it escapes him and he sags against the strong shoulder, mumbling pleas under his nose. 

“I won’t,” he whispers into Jiyan’s ear, still holding him tightly, one of his thumbs rubbing circles into the exposed skin on his shoulder. He takes a few deep breaths to will that brief bout of panic away. Yhan's fingers don't still even when the man against him calms down again. Somewhat.

“Don’t tell him I told you anything, he would be so pissed,” he mumbles, sinking into himself as well as he could in his current position. Yhan sighs, the sound heavy in the air between them.

“I guess he wasn’t kind?”

“That… that is an understatement…”

Yhan pulls him closer, squeezing his arms around him in an almost strangling hug, and it cracks whatever is left of Jiyan’s facade. He crumbles into pieces against Yhan’s shoulder, the tears that he had tried so badly to keep at bay finally escaping their shackles, soaking into the uniform pressed against his cheek. He keeps apologising, trying to free his hands from where they are still crushed between them to wipe the offending water from his face. The words: “It’s okay, let it all out” shatter whatever is left of his composure, and he cries freely. The older man cards his calloused hand through his hair. It doesn’t make it better, despite his best attempts, his mind keeps comparing the two, keeps imagining that the touch is just a bit warmer, crackling with the energy of Geshu Lin’s forte, that the fingers are just a notch longer. All it does is make him miss the man even more, causing the pain in his heart to simply flare to life worse than before. He cries, sobbing against the man’s shoulder, the clothes under his head are uncomfortably wet, but he barely feels it. He doesn’t notice when a single stray tear falls into his hair and disappears from sight either. He just feels the arms around him tighten their hold, as if desperately trying to keep him together, to stop him from shattering into nothingness.

He doesn’t know how long they kneel there, Yhan holds him through it all, whispering comforting words to him, promising that it will all be alright. Jiyan isn’t sure he believes him. Nothing in the world is alright without that burning warmth by his side, that is Geshu Lin. Nothing would ever be alright again without him, of this, he is absolutely certain. Eventually, he runs out of tears to spill, left leaning against the man, utterly exhausted. He could probably fall asleep like this.

“You need food and sleep,” Yhan says, splitting the silence around them in half. His hand in Jiyan’s hair doesn’t still. “Even if you don’t want me to take you to medbay, I am still taking you back to your rooms.” 

The older man lets go of him, and Jiyan misses the hug before Yhan is fully on his feet. Gentle fingers wrap around Jiyan’s arm, pulling him up as well. He sways dangerously for a moment, but Yhan’s hands steady him before he can crumble back to the ground like an empty sack. He whispers an almost silent “thank you” to the man before following him.

The way to Jiyan’s rooms is silent, neither of them says a thing, and as it turns out, Yhan is an expert when it comes to avoiding all other people that should frankly be crawling all over the camp. Not a single soul interrupts them, and Jiyan is glad. Humans can be exhausting, and he has nothing left to spare. He can’t manage to pretend in this state, and he would really prefer if the general never heard about any of it. He doesn’t need to burden the man even more than he already has.

Once they enter the room, Yhan sends him off to sit on the bed, telling him to stay put before he disappears back out the door without another word. Jiyan stands there, listening to the suffocating silence before doing as he is told with a sigh. He crumbles to the bed, lying there like a starfish. His dull eyes stare up towards the ceiling, and he doesn’t move a single muscle. His mind races, thoughts jumping from topic to topic. They keep straying back towards Geshu Lin over and over again, no matter how many times he says no and tries to steer them clear of the man. If there were any tears left to spare, he would be crying, but it feels as if he is utterly dry, as if there is not a single drop remaining in him. 

Close to fifteen minutes pass before the door creaks open again. Yet it had felt as if Yhan had been gone for far longer. Jiyan struggles up from the bed as the footsteps approach, and a steaming bowl is presented to him. He inhales the scent, recognising the dish instantly. The army rations aren’t the best, especially those that are supposed to get ready fast. Warming premade thin noodles in boiling water would have his mother faint, but they taste alright, and they do get the job done. With just a few bites, he realises that Yhan hadn’t poured the water away like most tended to do, no, he had left it right there, mixed something into it to enhance the taste, but Jiyan isn’t sure what it is. He recognises the small bites of eggs and vegetables, the tender meat floating among the broth, but whatever spices had been tossed in there remain a mystery to him. Yhan had quite frankly managed to enhance the otherwise bland thing into something incredible. He asks about it, curious what it was that the man had chucked in there in addition to the things he recognises, but the only answer is a short huff of laughter accompanied by the single word: “Love.” He shrugs his shoulder slightly. If the man wants to keep secrets, then he can carry on. Jiyan ain’t going to pry.

He devours the food, each bite of it a sensational blessing. And every single mouthful reminds him just how hungry he had gotten, how starved he had felt. He hadn’t even noticed it gnaw at him almost painfully, the ache in his heart overshadowing it completely. Yet now that there is something to fill his stomach, it becomes obvious what he had brushed aside. It brings comfort, a warmth that blooms inside him, the heated broth flowing down his oesophagus, lighting his body from the inside out. For a moment, he imagines that it would allow him to sleep, that it would be warm enough to feel safe. Then it fades away, and almost desperately, he goes after the next bite to feel it all over again. It is inevitable that the dish will run empty eventually. And Jiyan is forced to feel that sweet, hot sensation running down his chest cease to be entirely. He craves more even though he feels full. Wordlessly, he hands the bowl to Yhan, the cloud over his head back again with its insistent darkness and rain.

Yhan takes it from him, tossing him a tissue instead. He takes the hint with a short bark of laughter and wipes his mouth off. He can hear the older man wash the bowl in the sink of the tiny kitchen corner he has, if it could even be called that with how small it is. He can hear him dry the bowl before it clinks on the cupboard surface and remains there.

“To bed with you now, you need sleep,” Yhan claps his hands together once, his voice weirdly cheerful as he says it.

“It isn’t that easy.”

“I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep, maybe it will help,” the older man shrugs, the movement causing a slight hitch in his breath. 

“Get comfortable, we’ll be here the whole night,” Jiyan grumbles, but he does dutifully fight his way out of his shirt, tossing it in the estimated direction of a chair. He will worry about it tomorrow. He can barely open the button of his pants to shrug those off as well before frantic footsteps rush over and a warm hand grabs hold of his chin, tilting it upwards. Confusion fills his mind as Yhan sucks in a sharp breath of air, the fingers from his other hand trailing over something. His mind helpfully provides him with the recall of the sensation of heated fingers sinking into his throat, air evading him. It becomes glaringly obvious that there are bruises etched into his skin. Jiyan had forgotten about them, and now Yhan had seen them after all.

“Did he do it?” he asks, his voice shaking. 

Jiyan merely nods. He doesn’t know how to put it into words. He doesn’t want Yhan to be angry again, doesn’t want him to think badly of his long-time friend. What if the man would make good on his threat after all?

“It’s okay,” he whispers eventually, trying to calm the man back down again. Only a hitch of breath answers him, and Yhan crushes him once again into a warm hug. He wraps his arms around him in return. The man’s shoulders tremble slightly underneath his hold.

“Don’t be angry.”

Yhan merely huffs, no words leave his lips and Jiyan doesn’t feel the tears that the man rubs into his own sleeve, doesn’t see the way he bites into his own lip to keep his anguish from becoming audible as he holds the young man that had become the closest thing to a son he had ever had. They stand there for a long while, neither saying another word. Eventually, Yhan releases him and ushers him into bed. 

Jiyan buries himself under the freezing blanket on his bed. He can’t help the shudder shaking through him, the cold raising goosebumps across his skin as he sinks in on himself, only the top of his head remains visible from where he hides.

Yhan sits next to him on the bed, leaning his back against the headboard. Jiyan turns to face him, curling closer to him. He is emitting warmth, and even though it isn’t quite the same as Geshu Lin’s -Yhan, after all, doesn’t command a forte that raises his body temperature to a constant feverish scale -it is still enough to scare away the winter. A hand cards through his hair, and the sensation is so horribly familiar from the time he spent dozing in Geshu Lin’s bed that he really can’t help it. He promised that he would sit there the whole night, and yet it takes him less than an hour to nod off, listening to Yhan tell him stories from his childhood. That hand never strays from his hair. 

***

Yhan trails off slowly, his hand stilling as a soft snore escapes his ward. His eyes scan over Jiyan’s sleeping figure, his eyes closed, and that insistent frown on his face finally smoothing over. He sighs, relief washing through him. The boy had said what he did, and perhaps he had believed it too, but he is asleep for now, and that is all that matters. Jiyan looked on the brink of collapse way before he actually went down and gave Yhan a goddamn heart attack for absolutely no damn reason. It must be a first in a long, long while that his opponent just faints in the middle of a spar. In fact, he can’t remember it ever happening before, and he had faced many in his time in the army. He brushes the insistent hair out of the younger man’s face before getting up slowly and surely, doing his best not to wake Jiyan again. Is this what parents feel when they put their newborns to bed? This insistent fear that even the slightest of sounds would wake them? The thought brings a small smile to his face before it fades again as his eyes trail over the finger-shaped bruises pressed into his throat. General or not, no one gets to hurt his boy and get away with it unscathed.  Just because he had promised not to kill the bastard, doesn’t mean he won’t dish him out a lecture of a lifetime. Geshu Lin will never forget, he will make absolutely sure of it.

He can’t get far from the bed before he stumbles against something lying in front of it. His eyes widen slightly as he picks the intricate walking stick off the ground. The golden dragon stares him in the face from where it is twirled around the pole. He recognises the style, though Geshu Lin tended to carve small animal statues instead of mobility aids when he wasn’t yet a general - a small squirrel is sitting on his table after all - the way the knife has been wielded on the wood is unmistakable. 

“I’ll never understand how that brain of yours works,” he growls under his breath, leaning the cane against Jiyan’s bedside table within easy reach before turning around and resolutely marching out the door. He has business to conduct.

By the time the general’s office comes into sight, Yhan has managed to scare off at least two recruits who had scrambled as soon as they had laid their eyes on his murderous glare. The door goes flying open without a single knock, only hitting the wall with a loud bang. Dust scatters to the floor where a small dent had appeared. The soldier giving a report flinches hard and messes up his words instantaneously. Geshu Lin’s golden eyes stare at Yhan, and the displeasure on his face is clear. He doesn’t flinch at the clear rage on Yhan’s face.

“I’m busy as you can probably see,” he hisses, clearly hoping that Yhan would turn tail and leave. Oh, he has another thing coming for him if he thinks it is that easy to get rid of him.

“I need to talk to you, and the only thing more important would be the wakening of the threnodian, if it isn't that, then you!” he points at the quivering boy looking close to tears, ”Get out!” The poor soldier is out the door before Geshu Lin can even protest. Yhan kicks the door closed after him, turning his murderous gaze to the general sitting behind the table once more. The golden eyes are filled to the brim with displeasure. 

“With what have I earned the pleasure of your visit?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowed and his chin leaned on his intertwined fingers as he looks Yhan over like a predator staring at its prey. He forgets something of utmost importance: Yhan isn’t the victim in this equation.

He marches over to the table until he can slam his hands down against the wood and glare the general in the eye.

“What the hell were you even thinking?”

Geshu Lin either feigns ignorance or is truly so blind that he has no idea what Yhan is talking about. His nonchalance pisses him off further and even though he had promised himself that he wouldn’t hurt Jiyan more by laying a hand on Geshu Lin, it is too tempting to grab the man by his collar and drag him upwards until they are almost nose to nose. The air between them smells of alcohol. The man had been drinking, not enough to lose all of himself to the bottom of the bottle, but enough to smell like it glaringly. Those golden eyes burn in clear rage as heated fingers crush Yhan’s wrist in an iron grip. He will end up with matching bruises to his son, but even if the bastard breaks his hand, he will not stop until he has what he came for.  

“You are only alive because he begged me to spare you,” he growls in his face, shaking the man in his hold almost violently, watching how the realisation crosses his eyes before the perfectly crafted scowl settles back as if his mask had never broken at all. Yhan knew him too well to fall for it. Geshu Lin had always been a good actor, always wearing the perfect mask, just like his harsh life had taught him. But no one is without their tells, and he knew enough.

“Why would you do it?” he demands. The man in front of him doesn’t grace him with a proper answer. He only scoffs and bites back: “I haven’t done a damn thing, old man.”

“Oh yes, he wrapped his own hand around his neck and squeezed until there were bruises in the shape of your fingers on his skin,” he almost yells in the man’s face, pure fury twisting his face into something ugly. “Isn’t that right?” 

Geshu Lin doesn’t answer him, opting to clench his hand around Yhan’s wrist even tighter, his skin is too hot, the flames begging to be allowed out. He knows it is a warning, the only one he would get before the man before him does something neither of them could quite come back from. Yhan doesn’t care.

“Why?” he demands instead, “Why would you break that poor boy's heart?”

“It is none of your business,” Geshu Lin growls back, agitation on his face clear.

“It is if you are so much of an idiot that you would lay your hand on the only one you would die for!” Part of him wants to wrap his own fingers across that throat, show the man what he had done, how he had made Jiyan feel. It is a horrible thing to not be able to breathe, even worse when it is someone you love. Geshu Lin really ought to get a taste of his own medicine. He doesn’t trust himself to not cross a line, and the panic in Jiyans eyes as he had thought that Yhan would harm the man he so clearly loved is quite enough for him to push the temptation down.

The golden eyes finally leave his own, and the clear rage on the man’s face subdues somewhat.

“He needed to understand…” Yhan doesn’t let him finish.

“Nothing, Geshu Lin, absolutely nothing warrants those bruises,” he whispers, finally releasing his hand. Geshu Lin crumbles back to his chair with a heavy sigh, leaning back against it heavily. The frown and anger on his face melt away as if they had never been there to begin with, leaving behind only sadness. Yhan doesn’t know what had done the trick, but he had broken something.

“I didn’t want to,” the man says. Remorse, an emotion so foreign on him, contorts his face into something Yhan had never seen before. Good. He should feel sorry for what he has done.

“And yet you did, why?”

Geshu Lin doesn’t answer him for a long, long while. In the end, he doesn’t answer him at all.

“I didn’t expect him to tell you,” he eventually settles on, even though Yhan is sure those had not been the words he had been searching for. He can entertain the man for now, but he is not getting out of answering for his deeds quite so easily. Yhan might not be the youngest in the bunch, but he isn’t senile. 

“Oh, he didn’t come rattling if that is what you have in mind, now answer the question,” he growls.

Another heavy sigh answers him before the words “It was the only way” follow it. It is clear that the man intends to leave it all at that, give him nothing but cryptic messages.

“Only way to what? Killing the boy?”

Startled golden eyes find his before the mask settles back on and twists that face back into indifference. Yhan isn’t stupid, he knows it is the last thing in the long list of emotions that plague the general currently.

“I didn’t kill him!”

“You might as well have! Do you even know that he collapsed today, just because he has neither slept nor eaten?” Yhan shouts. 

The general flinches slightly, the movement so minuscule that it is almost nonexistent. A brief worry clouds his eyes, but he doesn’t ask the question that so clearly burns on his tongue.  Yhan would almost feel sorry for him if he couldn’t still recall the way Jiyan had sobbed against his shoulder as if the only thing still holding him somewhat together was Yhan’s arms around him. He could still remember that utter hopelessness in his eyes when he said he wouldn’t mind dying. No, Geshu Lin hasn’t earned his pity or remorse.

“Why the hell would you tear his heart to shreds and then trample over it? Just to be safe? Or do you enjoy seeing him hurt?” Yhan demands a bitter laugh accompanying it. The sound is not his usual cheer, no happiness in the coldness of it at all. Geshu Lin’s eyes stick to the top of his table like glued and he doesn’t say a damn thing. Only silence greets him as the general in front of him is seemingly far in thought. He slams his hand against the table, jerking the man out of his mind.

“Goddamn it, answer me!” He isn’t proud of how loud his voice is, yet he can’t really tame the rage in his veins either. It burns like wildfire, and the temptation to give his old friend a fair trashing is harder to resist than ever. The damn bastard can’t even own up to his own actions. He is doing this for Jiyan, he reminds himself. 

“I’m keeping him safe!” Geshu Lin explodes, his voice loud and eyes aflame with a familiarly burning rage.

“You call that safe! ” he bellows, slamming his fist back on the table, sending dozens of papers floating to the floor, but neither of them pays any mind to them. Sentinel above, when had Geshu Lin lost all of his screws?  How could someone so smart be so stupid at the same time?

“That boy told me he wouldn’t mind dying, and you call that safe!” he hisses. He can see Geshu Lin’s mouth open as if to object, but Yhan carries on, trampling all over whatever the man had in mind. “I wouldn’t be sure he won’t lay a hand on himself either if I were you!” he growls “And if he takes his own life, his blood will be on your hands!”

The man lowers his head slightly, but Yhan can still see his hands tremble on the table, and for a moment he believes that it is pure rage, that the general would lunge over the damn desk keeping him from Yhan, for a moment he is sure that the man will strangle him to his death with his bare hands. He prepares for the blow that doesn’t come. Because instead, Geshu Lin crumbles.

“I…I just wanted him to be safe,” he whispers, his voice breaking, and with horror, Yhan realises that it is the second time today that someone is falling apart at the seams with him in the room. He ain’t a medic for fucks sake! And Geshu Lin… Sentinel above, that man has probably never cried in his life! Yhan knows that it is genuine. If the man wanted reactions, he resorted to violence and rage, not shaky tears that seemingly don’t work quite as they should. He cries like someone who hasn’t done so in years, if not decades. Yhan frankly doesn’t even know what to do. Would the man welcome a hug as readily as Jiyan, or would he shy away from it as if burned? 

“They keep saying all those things about him and…” his breath hitches and the sound is so foreign out of his mouth, “when the magistrate hears, they will destroy his career. The damn military is all he has left, his own mother doesn’t want him,” he hisses through his tears. “I can’t take his last home away from him.”

“You’re an idiot, Geshu,” he whispers, rounding the corner and deciding to take the risk. He wraps his arms around the man, feeling him go rigid immediately, every single muscle in his body tensing up as if expecting the touch to hurt. The fight drains out of him almost as instantly. He sinks against Yhan’s stomach, his tears wetting the uniform. Geshu Lin doesn’t wrap his arms around the older man, doesn’t even move. But perhaps that is enough for him. 

“Discharge him, his injuries are enough to get him out honourably,” he says, but before he can continue, the man between his arms blows up all over again.

“Didn’t you hear a damn word I just said!” Geshu Lin hisses. All the fight runs back instantly as the anger burns back into him like wildfire. His skin heats in his rage and Yhan flicks him against the forehead to shake at least some of the damn screws back where they need to be.

“Think, Geshu Lin, for a damn moment, stop and think!” That man is too prone to just jump into the deep end and remain there no matter what. How he had made it this far sometimes genuinely surprises Yhan.

“He could serve as a civilian advisor, not military, not your subordinate, none of the magistrate’s business whether you two have a relationship or not.” He shushes Geshu Lin before he can get a word out.

“He isn't here because the military is his whole life, he is here because he wants to help Jinzhou, and believe me, he would be glad to get to help and have you, no matter what it means on paper and for his career, give the boy a damn chance.”

“I'm not a good person, you’ve seen it yourself!” he shouts, the tears in his eyes brimming, threatening to spill once again.  “I’d be even worse of a lover. I'll end up hurting him again even when I don't mean to,” he whispers. Yhan hasn't heard the general be so meek in his entire life. He is certain that Geshu Lin had never been like that to begin with. The man was an idiot, resorting to drastic measures to achieve what he thought best, without even considering for a moment that there were other options. Jiyan truly had chosen a difficult man to love, but Yhan would have to be blind to not see how well they could work if someone stopped being a stubborn mule.

“If you think you don't deserve him, then fucking earn him! It ain't black and white, Geshu!”

“Stop being a damn coward and tell him you're sorry,” Yhan says. Calling Geshu Lin a coward is a low blow, but hopefully one that works. 

“He would never accept…” 

Yhan isn't sure if he wants to slam his own head against the table or Geshu Lin's, but the urge is strong nonetheless. Damn it, he can hear the pain it causes the general, can see how badly it hurts and yet he is still insistently looking for excuses. Didn't even flip a lid over being called a coward for fucks sake. Geshu Lin would have never left anyone daring to question his courage alive, and now he hadn’t even bothered to react at all.

“He would, especially if you tell him why. Hell, he would if you don't tell him shit, but be certain that I won't be happy with that.”

Geshu Lin laughs slightly before the sound catches in his throat in a painful hitch. He tries to rise from his chair before Yhan shoves him back down. The man blinks almost owlishly up towards him in clear question.

“Where do you think you're going?” Yhan asks, raising a single eyebrow.

“To apologise…” His voice trails off, unsure, and he looks ten years younger, like a shy young man, not a war-hardened general. He looks like the man Geshu Lin would have been had the sentinel had mercy on his fate. Jiyan sure brings out the best in him, despite everything.

“Geshu, it's late, and he is asleep, you can wait one more night.” He laughs softly. Back to the deep end like the stubborn mule he is. 

“What if he…”

“He won’t, I'll keep watch.” He scrutinises the man in front of him, taking in the obvious darkness on his face and the clear exhaustion clouding his eyes. He can still smell the alcohol in his breath, and even though it doesn’t bother him, he knows that Jiyan scowls at the mere mention of the poison. He hates it with a passion, and he most certainly hates it even more when Geshu Lin is the one to drink. Yhan can now see the reason why the boy had never remained at any parties for longer than it took him to eat something. It almost always fit perfectly with the time Geshu Lin would tip the first bottle of the night back. The thought almost makes him laugh, but instead, he shakes his head fondly. The two of them will most certainly have him greying well before the time is right.

“You need to sleep yourself.” He finally decides. Frowning at the man when he shakes his head, his eyes fixed on a spot somewhere on the floor.

“Can't.”

“Not you too,” Yhan mumbles under his breath. The urge to slam his head against something, preferably a hard surface, is strong. 

“Do I need to read you a bedtime story as well?” He asks with a slight laugh. The mere thought of telling the General Geshu Lin a story before bedtime is horribly hilarious. 

The man’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “As well?” he echoes. Yhan merely hums, waiting for the realisation to dawn on the general's face. It doesn’t take that long before it does, and he merely whispers a soft “oh” before shaking his head lightly.

“I would feel better if you spent that time making sure there is a Jiyan in this world come tomorrow morning,” he mutters softly. Yhan nods and turns to leave. From the door, he looks back towards the man who seems to barely hold himself together. It is a pitiful sight, and it pulls at his heart to leave him like this, but Geshu Lin would never allow him to stay here as long as he keeps worrying about Jiyan.

“You'll fix it right?” He asks just to make sure. He doesn’t doubt that the man will do so, but hearing it from him would certainly put his mind at ease. Geshu Lin looks up towards him and nods slightly.

“Don't drink yourself to sleep,” he says eventually, following the man’s gaze towards the bottom drawer where he hides the fine whiskey.

“It would help.”

“And he would hate the smell of it on you even more.” Yhan shrugs slightly. He can't stop the man, if he wants to drink, then drink he will. He can merely give advice. He doesn't stay to verify whether he listened or not. Geshu Lin might be an idiot, but he is still an adult who is capable of making his own decisions, even if they aren’t always the wisest. Silently, he walks back towards Jiyan's rooms. He has the general's orders to fulfil and he will do so perfectly.

***

Jiyan wakes to the earsplitting blare of sirens around the camp. He is halfway out of bed and dressed before he realises that even if he is there, he most likely wouldn't be allowed on the front anyway. He would tip the scales of the mission too badly, and he can’t bear the thought of costing someone their life because of his sight. Despite this, he finishes dressing and grabs the walking cane he had stumbled over when getting up. Yhan must have leaned it against his bedside table last night. Clearly, the man hadn’t thought that, like the owner, like the thing, the cane would try to bash his head in by tripping him first thing in the morning. He successfully makes it to the door, and the realisation that the wooden pole is a lot more comfortable to use than a sword is a pleasant one. He even manages to ignore the agony that flares in his heart as a result of the mere thought of the man who had gotten it for him. He doesn't have time to think about it, there are more important things that need his attention right here, right now.

Jiyan stops with his hand on the knob sniffing the air with a frown on his face. The smell of coffee is strong in his room, and Jiyan knows for sure that he doesn’t even own any of it. He hates the bitter taste on his tongue and even more than that, he despises the frantic racing of his heart it causes. But Yhan drinks it each morning… Had the man really stayed with him for the entire night? Just to make sure he was alright?

He shakes himself out of the thought. The sirens are still wailing, and he needs to get to the bottom of this. He can quiz Yhan later when they aren’t on the brink of a potential catastrophe. Everything beyond his door is a mess. The entire camp has been kicked into gear, soldiers running around almost like headless chickens, making moving in the halls a lot harder than it should ever be. Jiyan gives them room, almost glueing himself to the wall to not burden them even further. Yet he remains obvious to the eyes following him around, obvious to the hushed whispers that point out the slight redness around his eyes, the darkness underneath them, the disarray that is his hair freely cascading down his back. It is quite clear that he hasn't slept well and most likely has spent his time crying. The sadness that seems to seep into all of the cracks is clear on his face, obvious to anyone willing to look hard enough. Not many bother, but the ones that do are speculating before Jiyan is even fully out of hearing range. They would need to thank the sentinel that his mind is too occupied to listen to their insistent whispering.  

A warm hand falls onto his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks, and instinctively, he turns to face its owner.

“Yhan! What happened?” He asks the familiar man.

“Multiple tacet fields emerging, bracketing in some important data gathering points, the general ordered a rescue mission.”

“Can I help?” 

“Depends if you’ve eaten.”

“Not yet,” Jiyan whispers, lowering his head and hoping that his face remains hidden at least a bit from the older man’s scrutinising eyes. He doesn’t want the slight tinting of his cheeks to be obvious. Not even Yhan is immune to the beauty of teasing and would surely make use of the knowledge once Jiyan is better off again.

“Then that is your first task, kid,” Yhan's rough voice says, “and after that, you can keep the camp running for him. I’ll be off on a different mission myself.”

Jiyan nods slightly but still makes his way outside first. There is no reason for him to be there. Geshu Lin won’t seek him out, and he can’t see the man to begin with. He is merely torturing himself for no reason at all. He knows it, but he can’t help it anyway.

The wind is strong, tearing at his clothes and hair, whipping the teal strands loose around him. They are uncontrollable, nature stuffing them into his mouth and eyes. He gathers as much as he can into his hand, holding the strands down. The shorter ones still move against his face, tickling at his skin insistently. He turns slightly to face the wind instead, allowing it to carry his hair away from him. He releases the rest of them, and they billow behind him like a cape. Jiyan stills and feels for the frequencies in the air, ordering his forte to translate for him. Something feels wrong about it. He doesn’t know what it is, but it makes unease settle into the depths of his gut. He tries to figure it out, tries to listen more closely, to demand more answers from the wind, yet he can’t pinpoint what causes it. There is nothing specific. Just a gut feeling that something will go wrong. He wishes he could tell the troops that they shouldn’t leave, that it isn’t safe. But he knows, Geshu Lin would laugh in his face and call him a coward. Even if Jiyan had undeniable proof, he would still set out just to spite him. A gut feeling won’t save anyone.

He hears the troops getting ready, that familiar voice giving commands left and right. Jiyan forces down the bang through his heart that makes the burning tears spring to his eyes again. Sentinel above, will he ever be able to look the general in the face again without crying immediately? He hates it, hates that the voice that had been a source of warmth and comfort burns like hellfire instead. He would give anything to be allowed to sink back into what it was and not have to feel agony each time the man crosses his mind. Wordlessly, he turns around and returns inside, never noticing a pair of worried golden eyes following his every move.

Minutes turn into hours, and time ticks by without any sight of returning soldiers from the front. Even Yhan, with his squad, remains away on whatever mission he had been assigned to. The camp is almost eerily silent, save for the weather that grows worse and worse. Heavy rain joins the still howling winds, rattling against the windows as if demanding entry into the depths of the camp, as if threatening to take down the walls and force its way in should it be refused. Jiyan’s heart is restless. The unease from the morning has only grown, and the small breakfast he had forced down has threatened to make a reappearance at least twice. He paces around the camp, back and forth like a caged tiger. Those left between its walls give him a wide breadth, leaving the hallways deserted for him to wander aimlessly like a ghost of a scorned lover. The thought almost makes him smile, if only it didn’t hurt as much. Nothing he tries works to settle the worry that gnaws at his heart, he can feel that something is utterly wrong, that the mission will go sideways, but he has no idea what it could be, and even if he did, there was nothing he could do anyway.

By nightfall, the rain stops, only the winds carry on their violent dance around the camp, tearing at everything they can. Jiyan has checked outside every half an hour, and this time he can finally hear footsteps and voices. They've returned! His happiness falls to dust soon after. Too many of them go straight to medbay, some not even on their own feet. He can hear them wail in pain, and more than anything, he wishes he could help them. Rationally, he knows that there is nothing he can do.  In his state, he would only make it worse. He pushes down the pain in his heart at the thought that he would never again in his life help to save another life. It is something he will have to learn to live with, no matter how he feels about it.

He listens around the soldiers, searching for familiar voices, but he hears none. He can't hear anything that could be the general's, not his voice, not his footsteps that he had learned to recognise, absolutely nothing, no orders, no commands, no anger. Just utter emptiness in the spot that should be filled. Fear cripples his heart, the what-ifs swimming around his mind and without further ado, he rushes to the first patch of returning soldiers that hadn't headed straight for medbay. He needs to hear what had happened. Why isn’t Geshu Lin where he should be? Why is there only silence?

“Where is the general, there is something that urgently requires his attention,” he asks, doing his best to not let that fear that is seeping into his bones, numbing half of his body in its crippling embrace show to them. They don't need to know. They don’t need another excuse to think he is weak, that he is incapable. 

“He… We…we lost sight of him, and after the battle died down, we… Well, we couldn't find him,” the recruit whispers. She grabs Jiyan's hand by the wrist and places something dainty on his palm.

“We were about to come find you… We, well…found this.” Her voice trembles.

He feels around the small thing, trailing his fingers across the smoothness of it. He has never touched it before, of which he is absolutely certain, yet he still knows what it is that he is holding onto. After all, Jiyan could never mistake the small emerald tooth the general wears for anything else. How many times had he stared at it instead of the insistent eyes, just because it seemed safer? He had never seen the man remove it. In fact, Jiyan wouldn’t be surprised if the man slept with it still resting against his skin.

His throat runs dry, his ears ring, and even if the soldiers in front of him say anything, he doesn’t hear it. All he can hear is the rushing blood in his head, and the pain in his soul that had felt hopeless in the face of Geshu Lin’s scorn burned harsher still. For the necklace to be here without its owner…

No, Geshu Lin isn't someone who dies on a simple rescue mission. He would come back from the other side just to demand a more fitting end for himself. He would rather burn the world to the ground than go like this. It doesn't mean that he isn't badly injured, it doesn’t mean that he can’t be dying…. Despite everything, Geshu Lin is still a human being, and humans could be horribly fragile. Jiyan shakes the thought away, He does not need the image of those eyes, cold and empty, staring up at him to haunt him now. He needs to deal with this, address it as is proper to the rank he doesn’t yet hold. For whatever reason, Geshu Lin had trusted him to be his advisor, had trusted him to know what to do in the face of difficulties. This is just another test from the man so he could laugh at Jiyan, tell him he is too caring or soft or gentle or whatever else comes to his mind.

“Did you find any signs to indicate the extent of his injuries?” he asks instead.

“No…” she whispers, her voice still trembling like a leaf in an autumn storm, “We should have looked harder, but the weather is impossible!” 

Jiyan nods. There is anger simmering beneath his skin, waiting to snap, but he reels it in. They had soldiers that needed urgent care, a search like this could take hours, hours that some of the injured most definitely didn’t have to spare. It was a sound decision, even though their strategic thinking was spotty at best, and he didn’t agree with it in the slightest. Geshu Lin was their general for fucks sake, at least some should have stayed to look for the man. It was the least they could have done for him. Yet he knew that no one would care enough. They respected the man, feared him, but not a single one of them cared about him as Jiyan did. Despite everything that the bastard had put him through, he couldn’t stop loving him. He and perhaps Yhan would be the only ones who would care about the man himself, and not only his title and strength. He was certain that even if he were to give the order, no search party would go out there with the weather as bad as they claim it is, by the time anyone would bother, the general could be beyond help.

Jiyan hates the emptiness, the endless silence where that low raspy voice should be, where that glowing warmth should be. The man’s presence had been painful to bear, but the mere thought of no Geshu Lin hurts worse than the breaking of Jiyan’s heart. He would rather hear his voice and cry every single time than hear nothing at all and be torn apart even worse. He wouldn’t be able to stay in a world that has lost his general, of that he is certain, no matter how much it pains him. It was irrational, overly dependent on a man that couldn’t give a fuck about him, but it kept him going when nothing in the world seemed worth it anymore. He will work on it when the man is back where he has to be. Jiyan won’t allow for any other alternative. 

“I’ll go find him,” he says resolutely, lifting his head. He’ll find a way, no matter how, no matter if he has to ghost his hands over every single rock in Desorock Highlands to do so. He will not stop until he finds him. Geshu Lin might be cruel, needlessly so, but Jiyan’s heart would never forgive him if he abandoned the man when he needed him most. How could he say he loves the general if he leaves him behind like a broken toy? No, he would even die for Geshu Lin should there ever be a need, he won’t stand here and wait until the man passes only to cry afterwards and curse everyone else out. They won’t miss Geshu Lin. It wouldn’t surprise him if they cheered that the cruelty had fallen, if they branded him as some kind of villain just because he was dead. The thought sickens him. He won’t allow them to desecrate his general like this. Despite it all, Geshu Lin had always given his everything for the country, had never feared the possibility of demise. He had laughed in its face instead. It was about damn time Jinzhou gave something back.

“That’s just stupid,” someone near the woman he had spoken to says, “you’re blind as a bat, you wouldn’t find him if he stood right in front of you,” he grumbles. The rage he had so carefully kept under lock and key boils over.

Jiyan turns around, as fast as lightning, his dull eyes zero in on the spot where the man should be standing. The small gasp is all it takes to confirm that he is right. He takes a few steps to get closer to him until he can feel the air move from where he is breathing. The anger that burns inside him isn’t a feeling he is intimately familiar with, rage had always been more Geshu Lin’s forte than his, yet he can imagine that the look on his face right now isn’t so different from the glare the general has mastered as a response to every annoyance. He can sense the air move, can hear the irregularity of the soldier’s breathing - perhaps he flinched? The thought is surprisingly satisfying, it merely strokes the flames of the fire that blazes inside him, the one that desperately wants to grab the man and shake him, the one that wants to scream at him that he is disrespecting a superior officer as if it were a joke. The one that yearns to be cruel. It is foreign, he doesn’t recall ever having a reason to be so pissed, perhaps there had never been one before the mere notion of Geshu Lin dying because these people are refusing to help him lights it all up in flames.

“If you think I would abandon one of the only hopes Jinzhou has for winning this war, you are sorely mistaken,” he growls. He despises it, hates that he has to reduce the man to a mere tool of the war to make them see sense, just because none of them can look at Geshu Lin and see a fellow human being, none of them see a man that had to start fighting too young, a man that had lost perhaps more than he could have borne. Who was to say that Geshu Lin’s cruelty didn’t stem from fear, one that he had no one trustworthy to share with? They all treat him like a damn weapon, like a damn tool to be used up, one to be discarded after it has served its purpose. He wants to scream at them all, he wants to cause a scene, say that Geshu Lin was so much more than just a way to win the war, but he can’t. They won’t listen, and he has no patience to hear them curse the man’s name and actions. So he doesn’t tell them that Jinzhou is the last thing on his mind, doesn’t tell them, that first and foremost, he is going after the man that didn’t give up on him like everyone else in this damn camp would have done. Jiyan had crossed a boundary and paid the price, but even then, the man hadn’t chased him away. He had thought of him, gifted him something so priceless out of whatever kindness was left in his heart. But the soldiers in front of him? They would have called him a useless burden, would surely have sent him back to Jinzhou without even a second thought. In their eyes, he had no value left, while Geshu Lin saw his blindness as a small obstacle to overcome. No matter how cold and cruel, he had taken the time to nurse Jiyan back to health, to teach him to live again, to move, to fight, to live independently of someone else. That damn bastard had given him hope when he had none. He will find the man or die trying. He owes him that much.

He turns back, ignoring whatever else they had wished to say and makes his way to the gateway into the highlands. He expects someone to stop him again, to try to convince him to give up. Hell, should Yhan see, the man would tie him down to keep him from going. He can imagine the lecture the older man would deliver. But he wouldn’t be able to keep him even if he tried. Jiyan will go, kicking and screaming if he has to, but he owes at least that to his general, to the man he loves and respects. The fact that he had hurt him in ways beyond imagination won’t change it. He couldn’t just stop loving the man even if he tried. 

It becomes clear quite soon that no one besides Yhan gives enough of a shit whether he lives or dies. And since the older man is occupied elsewhere… No one stops him. He can hear the murmurs, but not a single soul in this camp bothers him. Oh well, he really doesn't care what they think, he has a job to do, and whether they gossip or not, whether they believe they will never see him alive again or not, none of it matters. He just needs Geshu Lin back where the man belongs. Not even the threnodian could stop him from at least trying. Two lives rest in his hands, and while he had been certain that he would never save another, he won’t let Geshu Lin perish just because he wasn’t good enough to help the man.

About a hundred meters away from the gate, he stills, listening to the howling wind around him for a moment. It still holds that unease within itself, but at least now he has an inkling as to what is causing it. Perhaps someone from the camp is staring, perhaps Yhan has heard about his plan by now and is already on his way over. None of it matters. For the first time since he landed himself in the general's care, he summons Qingloong to his side. Even though he can't see the teal dragon, he can sense the frantic movement of Aero as the familiar dances around him like an excited puppy, happy to finally stretch its legs. The dragon twists and turns, dragging his clothes and hair into its whirlwind, almost brushing against him but never actually touching him. Finally, it stills near his hand, hovering next to him. He can feel the way its tail moves in the air as if the dragon is wagging it. The mere thought makes him huff a short laugh, stretching his hand towards the creature, sensing the gentle and oh-so-familiar vibrations of aero next to him. He has missed this.

“Qingloong, I do not request your aid in battle today, I plead with you, please lead me to him, lead me to Geshu Lin,” he whispers to the dragon. His only answer is a soft hum of air near him, and then the dragon moves, gently tapping its tail almost against Jiyan’s side as he goes. He follows the vibrations of the manifestation of his forte in the air, doing his best to pinpoint the exact location, scrambling over the harsh terrain. He had forgone the cane and left it in the camp for fear of harming it accidentally. He allows the polearm of aero to manifest in his hands instead. Using the weapon for something that most definitely hadn’t been its intended use. It is almost funny how, for a second time, he has allowed such a thing to happen, to allow a blade, no matter how blunt, to take the job from his eyes. Yet it saddens him as much. Phantom warmth on his elbow, the teasing words still ring in his ears…

This is going to be exhausting, keeping Qingloong around for so long and forcing himself to sense his location at all times is bound to eventually push the edge of overclocking. The longer it takes him to find the man, the more likely it is that neither of them will ever make it back, but it is the only thing he can think of that could possibly work.

The ground is rocky, forcing him to stumble over it repeatedly despite the polearm. In fact, he uses it more to keep himself upright after stumbling than to avoid fate altogether. And the times he fails to deploy the weapon fast enough, a gust of Aero helps him upright again before he can fully faceplant into the ground. Still, it takes them way longer than he would have hoped to cross the perilous paths that barely exist. If Geshu Lin is conscious, it wouldn’t matter, the man could lead him back, but if he isn’t… Jiyan needs his forte to work, and the only things he doesn’t have enough of to spare are energy and time. 

Qingloong doesn’t lead him in a straight line either, and that is bound to slow them down. Jiyan isn’t sure what makes the dragon choose the paths it does, especially as some of the places it leads him through are trickier than the beaten roads themselves should be. For whatever reason, Qingloong has decided to avoid a lot of the established routes. It takes him embarrassingly long to realise that the dragon is avoiding all the tacet discords around them, leading Jiyan into winding circles around them instead of exhausting him further by making him fight. It is wise, even though worry gnaws in his gut, whispering terrible thoughts into his mind as he keeps wondering how much more. How much more before they reach the man? Or worse, how much more before he can no longer carry on?

They venture deeper and deeper into the lands filled with split blood. Jiyan swears he can taste ash and iron in the air as they pass some of the previous battlefields. He swears he can still hear the screams of his comrades dying ring in his ears, their endless pleas for help haunt him. He knows that they are no longer there. It is merely his mind working against him to get him to succumb. Jiyan doesn’t know how much time has actually passed by the time Qingloong stops in front of him, giving a single twirl around him before whining low in its throat. He reaches out his hand in front of himself, pressing it against the rough wall of a cliff. It’s uneven, perfect for climbing if Jiyan could actually see where his limbs should go. Qingloong is testing him worse than Geshu Lin would, and for a moment, he considers that the dragon has learnt too much from the man. Terrible influence is what Geshu Lin is.

 “Upwards?” he asks. A hum is his only answer. Typical. Qingloong truly does remind him too much of a certain general.

“Catch me if I fall,” he mutters with a low sigh.

Carefully, he slides his hands around the wall, grabbing for points where he can support himself. Mountain climbing while blind has never been on his to-do list, in fact, had someone asked him about it a few weeks ago, he would have called them all insane. Yet, he manages somehow. Qingloong nudges him this and that way, leading him to what he was looking for before the anxiety could crush him in its hold. Together, it doesn't take as long as Jiyan feared to get high enough to haul himself up over the cliff’s edge. He stills immediately, listening around for potential tacet discords, but his only answer is the howling winds. In the face of silence, Jiyan relaxes, finally allowing himself to feel the happiness that both his feet on certain ground brings him. He knows that it is too early to celebrate, far too early for anything. He sombers immediately.

They carry on in silence, Qingloong leading him along a narrow but rocky path. The winds turn quiet, and the air around them grows damp. Perhaps they entered some sort of cave system. It would be an excellent place to take care of the general, should his situation prove to need it. Quietly, they follow the winding paths through the mountain. The open air that greets them is freezing cold. Rain pelts against Jiyan's face, and the wind that had seemingly gained only strength tears at his hair and clothes as a child throwing a tantrum would. At least the soldiers had been right about something, the weather is as horrible as they claimed it to be. The anger in his heart is still certain that they hadn’t done enough, and he doesn’t bother pushing it down, instead allowing it to fuel him. 

He moves onwards, Qingloong leading him in a straight line until it cuts sharply to the left instead, forcing them to route around something enormous - is it one of the tacet fields? Or even many of them? Yhan had mentioned multiple and Jiyan has no knowledge of how close together they are or how many of them had been closed before chaos struck. It takes the dragon perhaps another hundred meters after they end their half of a circle to come to a stop in front of him. It moves lower, closer to the ground and starts humming softly. The only answer is a slight groan of pain. Jiyan immediately sinks to his knees, reaching out for the man, careful hands brushing against wet clothes and skin that is most definitely too cold for Geshu Lin.  Yet his fingers touch against the painfully familiar belts the man wears around his waist. Why is he so cold?

“General!”

He doesn’t get a coherent answer.  The man mumbles something, but it is far from translatable, far from alright. Jiyan crawls closer, ghosting his hand upwards, barely touching, afraid to accidentally further harm him. His palm rests against the general’s skin, and the sensation is way too jarring. It is too cold, almost freezing. Jiyan has never been warm compared to the man, and yet now he feels almost feverish against Geshu Lin. Why isn’t his forte heating him? Why isn’t it working as it is supposed to? Had he overclocked? Jiyan tries to concentrate on the frequencies around him. Geshu Lin’s hum too silently, but they are there and entirely intact. As if something had suppressed it instead. A possible anomaly? Some kind of TD they haven’t seen before? 

He taps slightly against the man’s cheek, begging the sentinel for a miracle.  He needs him. Needs him alive, awake . Preferably right now, or the state of his forte wouldn’t matter anymore. He won’t be using it if he is fucking dead. Geshu Lin succumbing to hypothermia would be the cruellest joke Jiyan has heard, and he refuses to allow it to happen. He would do anything, no matter how crude or uncomfortable, no matter how painful. Geshu Lin will live if it is the last thing Jiyan does in this life.

“Ji…yan?” the man mutters under his breath, and a freezing hand is pressed against his cheek. He leans into the touch instinctively, and a single tear gathers in the corner of his eye as the pain threatens to overwhelm him. How could the man call him by his name like this? A mere second passes before he shakes himself out of it. Geshu Lin needs help, now! There is no use placing blame or feeling sorry for himself when there are so many more drastic things that require his attention.

“General! Can you hear me?”

It takes a while for the man to react before he can feel him nod his head slightly against Jiyan’s hand.

“How…” he is interrupted by a coughing fit, the sound of it horribly grating to Jiyan’s ears. Worry settles deep into his gut, gnawing at his heart as Geshu Lin whines in obvious agony. The man had never been one to be honest about his pain. And yet it is as if he can no longer hide it.

“Not important, what are your injuries?” he asks softly. Geshu Lin leans against his hand heavier than before, the pattern of his breathing slowing a bit. Jiyan taps against his face again to keep him awake.

“Ribs.. hurt,” he whispers before another coughing fit that leaves the man groaning takes over. Jiyan traces his fingers carefully around the man's mouth and against his lips. They come away wet, and Jiyan’s heart skips a fearful beat. Not this, please, not this. Frantically, he tries to think of a way to verify whether it is spit or blood. Only when his tongue touches against the pads of his fingers does he realise that he could have asked the man. Oh well, too late now. 

He ignores the blush dusting his face as the relief washes over him. There is no sharp taste of iron.  No blood. That is good, still worrisome, but not as bad as it could possibly be. The general takes several short, almost gasping breaths before he continues: “Leg’s stuck.” More silence. “Broken.”

Fuck.

Carefully, he touches his hands against the man’s ribcage, gently pressing down against the bones. Geshu Lin allows the touch on all of them, yet there are a few on his right side that make him flinch almost violently, and he does twitch against the touch on his left side as well. They don’t seem misplaced, but they are certainly broken, fractured if the man is lucky. He should have some elastic bandages in his gourd, but tying them in the rain is not favourable. Jiyan needs to verify that he can move the man before they take cover in the caves, and he can do some damage control. He just hopes that Geshu Lin has long enough left. 

He traces his palms lower, over the man’s hips and thighs. Geshu Lin’s breath hitches when his hands trail lower than the belts wrapped around him. He stops immediately, freezing in place, his fingers barely above the belt tied around his leg. Jiyan can’t feel anything wrong, yet something has hurt the man, something he can’t see or feel, and it is a horrible feeling. How can he help like this? How is he supposed to save the man if he can’t even diagnose him properly?

“Does it hurt?” he asks, worry seeping into his voice as he softly examines the spot. He can’t find anything, the clothes are intact, and there are no sharp hisses of pain even when he pushes down against the strong muscle.

“No….” his tone is meeker than Jiyan has ever heard him before. If he didn’t know any better, he would say that Geshu Lin sounds shy. That is impossible, he shakes his head to get rid of that ridiculous thought. He accepts the answer and carries on. His right leg is broken, the bone clearly uneven under his skin. Even if the man wasn’t as hypothermic as he is, he still wouldn’t be able to walk with that and hopping around like a peg-legged rabbit on these rocky plains is not the wisest idea for anyone, not even for Geshu Lin. Jiyan will have to carry him back. He had considered that possibility long before he found the man. 

He trails lower, his hand touching against the rough bark of a tree that is hovering slightly above the general’s foot. It seems he had found a way to lift it off of himself, but not enough to escape. Qingloong hums next to him slightly before he can sense the tree whizzing through the night air and slamming against the ground quite a distance away. He nods his thanks to the dragon before carefully wiggling his arms underneath the shivering man. He lifts him off the ground, wincing at the short gasp of pain that escapes him. Jiyan mutters an apology but gets no answer.

Qingloong leads them back towards the cave system. It takes them almost twice as long. Before, Jiyan wouldn’t have bothered to keep himself from stumbling, to keep himself certainly upright. A few scrapes and bruises on his skin are nothing. But now? He can’t afford to cause any more harm to the man in his arms, the man whose almost gasping breaths he can feel against the skin of his neck. Geshu Lin keeps mumbling under his breath, but the lonely syllables that Jiyan can hear make no sense at all. He tries to shush the general, but it has no effect, in fact, it seems that he hadn’t heard him at all. It worries him, he doesn’t have many of the things that he would need to properly care for Geshu Lin - starting with his goddamn eyes - all he has are a few things in his gourd and a forte of aero. Geshu Lin needs warmth, not a smooth summer breeze. He racks his brain the entire time it takes for them to get away from the horrible weather. The howling winds filled to the brim with too much information, don’t do him any good.

As soon as they are in the caves, away from the rain and the slashing gales, he carefully lays Geshu Lin back down before turning his pleading gaze towards Qingloong instead. He has an idea, but no one can promise that it will work. If it doesn’t, he will be forced to carry on, hoping that Geshu Lin still has enough time to reach the camp. He doesn’t, Jiyan’s mind whispers, not without warmth. He forces the thought back down. There is absolutely no need for panic. He made a promise, and he will keep it no matter what.

“Find me as much wood as you can and something to spark a fire with,” he requests.

The dragon is gone in a flash, leaving him alone with the man who somehow seems to embody his greatest blessing and worst nightmare in one.

“I…could have...” Jiyan hushes him before he can finish the sentence, his fingers rubbing slightly against the man’s face, brushing away the wet bangs from his eyes. He doesn’t know if he got them all, but it is the least he could do. He swallows the lump in his throat. He has shed enough tears in front of the man to last him a lifetime, and even though it hurts to be able to trail his skin across Geshu Lin’s own, it is enough to prove to him that they are still both alive, that he hasn’t failed just yet.

“You need as much energy as you have, we can manage, I promise you,” he whispers, gently brushing the pad of his thumb against the man’s cheekbone. He doesn’t know if he is trying to comfort Geshu Lin or himself. Either way, he isn’t sure it works. His own heart continues to throb painfully between his ribs, and Geshu Lin seems to sound worse off with every passing minute. He isn’t shivering anymore…

Qingloong returns with a small chirp and the loud clatter of sticks falling to the ground. Jiyan turns his attention away from the man for a short moment, allowing himself to collect his bearings again while he frantically searches for rocks to set in a circle. His hands shake and he can’t get rid of the crippling fear that gnaws at him. Geshu Lin is too still, too silent, too slow. And Jiyan is wasting too much time…

He piles some of the wood in the middle of it, not even bothering to be prim or proper about it, just tossing them where they wish to go. The small dragon drops two rocks in his lap, settling next to him like a guard dog. Its gaze watches intently as Jiyan works, forcing his trembling hands to listen. He can feel the barely lucid gaze on his back as well, and it is the only thing that keeps him from sinking into the agonising terror of his own mind. He clashes them together with more force than strictly necessary, and the familiar next to him blows the small spark into an inferno that gladly feasts upon the sticks. He feels the warmth of the fire roar to life in front of him. He wishes he could soak it in, sit here and revel in that familiar and so utterly comfortable warmth, but he doesn’t pause even for a moment before he gives the dragon a soft nod. The little thing does as requested, creating a small bubble around them, keeping the heated air in and the cold out. He shrugs out of the hanfu in an utter hurry, almost tearing the cloth with his recklessness. He hands it to the dragon before he turns back towards the general, rushing to his side. Jiyan has business to conduct. And he needs to do it fast. There isn’t enough time left for him to dilly-dally.

“We need to get you out of those clothes, every minute you spend in them is counterproductive,” he whispers, unsure if the man is conscious enough to make any sound decisions. If he isn’t, Jiyan will just have to beg for forgiveness later and hope that saving his life puts him in a benevolent enough mood. Surprisingly, the man hums softly. Jiyan feels like he can somewhat breathe again. Not all hope is lost yet.

“Do it,” his hoarse voice mumbles. He sounds just a notch better, but there is still a flowing tilt to his words that speaks of the floating of his consciousness, and he is so still, not a single shiver to be found. There is no confidence in him that Jiyan has come to associate with the man. Frankly speaking, he barely recognises him. Still, he reaches out for him, unclasping his overshirt in swift movement. Carefully, he helps the man sit up and wiggle out of the rest of his upper body clothes. Without much struggle, he manages to remove the man’s boots. Fighting through Geshu Lin’s belts, on the other hand, is a nightmare of its own. He spends the entire endeavour mumbling under his breath, barely audible even to his own ears about the impracticality of all those damn belts. The general shows no indication that he heard him besides a soft hitch of his breath as Jiyan unbuttons his pants. He doesn’t know what causes it. Geshu Lin had said he wasn’t injured there. Had he lied?

The thoughts circle his mind even as he helps the man out of the damn things all the while trying his best to not hurt his leg even more. Once he has the man stripped down to his underwear, Jiyan digs into his first aid kit, searching for the elastic bandages that surely have to be there. He will never forgive him if he, for whatever reason, had removed them. The sigh of relief that escapes him as his fingers brush against the roll is entirely involuntary. Thank Sentinel that the past version of him had, in fact, not been an idiot beyond imagination. 

He takes it with him before kneeling behind the general. Carefully, he gathers the wet strands of white hair, peeling them away from his skin and wrings them - or at least tries to, it is about as pointless as fighting with his own hair after a shower. Pure water flows out, soaking Jiyan's pants even more. Geshu Lin mumbles something, but the words aren’t even close to being audible. He ignores it, hoping that it isn't important.

Jiyan braids the white hair into a loose braid, afraid that if he pulls it any tighter, it would cause the man unnecessary discomfort. He doesn't have a comb after all, and hairs that just kept pulling at their roots, as if dreaming of leaving their destined place, were a sure way to get a splitting migraine that the man can’t afford on top of his already extensive injuries. He needs peace and calm, not more injuries. He tosses the braid over his own shoulder, effectively keeping it out of the way as he carefully bandages Geshu Lin’s chest. Each small wince is like a stab through his own heart. Oh, how he hates to hurt him like this. Part of him wants to think that it is fair, Geshu Lin had hurt him, wouldn’t it make sense… He squashes the thought before it has the chance to fully form. He isn’t like this, and no matter how much pain the general had put him through, payback wouldn’t be the answer. It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t prefer the hypothermic Geshu Lin as a patient, though. 

The man had never given a shit about his own life. He could walk around, dripping blood and guts to the floor and not make a different face, not showing his pain or anything to the outside world, but like this? He is communicating for once - no matter how involuntarily. His small actions betray each and every wound he has, unknowingly replacing Jiyan's eyes almost perfectly. And for that, he is thankful even if the sounds of his pain make his own heartbreak only worse. Geshu Lin had never been an agreeable patient, so of course, there must be an equal exchange. Neither of them is a good option, neither is easy.

He makes quick work of getting rid of his own clothes before settling back behind the man. Jiyan has never been warm compared to Geshu Lin, but he will have to be enough to try to get the man’s temperature back to at least normal levels. He will have to be enough to keep Geshu Lin alive.

Jiyan leans against the slightly cool rock of the cave wall before pulling his general flush against him. He despises the tremble in his jaw and the slight sheen of tears in his eyes, but his pain doesn’t matter, not now, not when Geshu Lin is on the brink of thresholds no one could come back from entirely unharmed. Qingloong tosses him the now dry hanfu, and he wraps it around the general as well. It covers his own arms enough to hide the insistent tremble that refuses to leave him alone. It hurts, sentinel above, does it hurt to hold the man so close to him, skin flush against skin, especially when he knows it is temporary. They will go back to exactly how it was for the last few days. Jiyan seeing neither hide nor hair of the man, and Geshu Lin not caring whether his advisor-to-be lives or dies. But more than anything, he wants to indulge. Get his fill now, no matter how much worse it will be once it is ripped away from him all over again. At least he would have something, no matter how brief.

Geshu Lin's head falls against his shoulder, and he seems to sink into the comfort of warmth. Jiyan’s teeth sink into his own lip, drawing blood. How can the man show such trust, such ease with him? He tries to remind himself that Geshu Lin is far from okay, he isn’t in his right mind. Perhaps he doesn’t even remember that it was Jiyan who holds him. Yet the man turns his face to snuggle into his neck, and it is clearly his name that is muttered against the clothed skin in an almost fervent whisper. The tender sensation of those lips brushing against him forces a tremble down his spine, but it is all soiled in unease and fear of pain that will surely come. He hates it, hates that something he would have revelled in still holds the same grip on him, yet doesn’t feel the same anymore. 

Jiyan doesn't know how long it takes before the man starts to seem more coherent again. Perhaps it is solely because he spends the entire time trying to piece together the mess inside himself. How can someone both crave something with a passion and yearn to escape from it all at the same time? How can he sit here with the man he so deeply loves pressed against him and think of nothing but that agonising throb in his own soul? He tries to shake it away, but the glaring difference between the man who had seen fit to take his air away from him and the one who now curls against him as if he couldn’t bear to spend another second away from Jiyan hurts. It confuses him. It is painful that he doesn’t know anymore which of the versions he has seen of Geshu Lin is the real one. He hates that he no longer knows - or can even guess - what the man truly thinks or feels. He buries the thoughts.

Instead, Jiyan opts to concentrate on the thump of Geshu Lin’s heart under his palm. It is gradually picking up speed, finally returning from that horribly slow pace it had set before. His skin is warming up again, reaching more and more humane temperatures by the second. Qingloong has long finished drying their clothes, having piled them up near the fire to keep them warm and is now lazing against Jiyan's leg, down to about a kitten size to preserve his energy. The soft hum of Geshu Lin's forte flares to life under his hands so suddenly that Jiyan can’t really help the small flinch. But the effect is almost instantaneous, the man's body temperature rising slowly but surely to the familiar heat that Jiyan has missed oh so dearly. 

“Jiyan…?” His voice is still rough, his breaths under his hold shallow. But the hands that come up to wrap around his arm with the grip of iron are warm, familiarly callused. He expects them to yank him away from Geshu Lin, expects the man to fight his way out of his hold, away from him, but he doesn’t. He crushes Jiyan closer to himself, curling slightly around the arms still wrapped around his middle. It confuses him. 

“Don’t…”

“I'm here, it's alright now,” he whispers around the lump in his throat. Why must it hurt so much? Just, why? Despite the pain clawing at his heart and the tears still insistently burning at the corners of his eyes, he leans his chin on the man's shoulder, careful not to hurt him, just holding him close even though he had been certain that it wouldn’t be what Geshu Lin would crave. Yet the man continues to surprise him.  

“I…” He starts, before rethinking the start of his sentence several times. Dozens of different words pass his lips as he tries to put whatever it is in his mind into words. Yet each time his mouth clicks shut and no others follow. Geshu Lin has never been so unsure in his life, and Jiyan isn’t sure what hurts more, seeing the oh-so-confident man so lost, or having him so close. Finally, the general settles on one question: “Why?”

Jiyan echoes back the words that the man had once told him, what felt like a long time ago: “Does it matter why?” He could be honest, he could tell the man that it is hard to breathe without him, hard to sleep. He could tell him so many things, but none of them would be fair to him. Geshu Lin doesn’t need to love him, he doesn’t have to return feelings that Jiyan can’t shake off, no matter what. He doesn’t need to suffer because Jiyan yearns for things he isn’t supposed to have. Just because like an idiot he had fallen in love with the most difficult man to ever walk upon Jinzhou’s soil, doesn’t mean shit. He doesn’t need to hurt the man like this.

Geshu Lin laughs, clearly recalling his own words. The sound, however, is short-lived as it causes him great pain. Instinctively, he tries to curl up, his breaths wheezing as he tries to will the agony away. Jiyan rubs against his chest, comfortingly, holding him as the man eases back into breathing normally again, just a notch too shallow, but still better than the gasping from a moment before. A single tear trails down Jiyan’s cheek. This is too much for his poor heart to bear, too much pain and agony that just refuses to succumb, no matter what. But he must, he must go through it. Geshu Lin couldn’t have saved himself and no one else gives enough of a shit to bother. It must be Jiyan, no matter how much it hurts, how much he wants to curl back up in his bed and cry until he can no longer. None of it matters. There is only Geshu Lin, the sole recipient of his attention.

“Easy, try not to aggravate your ribs,” he whispers softly. He can feel the man nod against his neck where his nose is still buried against the skin, his breaths ghosting against him teasingly. Jiyan opts to ignore it entirely. 

“How?” Geshu Lin chooses to ask next. 

“Had a certain dragon help me,” Jiyan chuckles, caressing his hand against the general's head slightly. Oh, how he has missed this, the soft warmth the man emits. He knows that it is brief, that it will be taken away from him again, but he can’t help it. He wants to sink into this sensation and never let go again. Rationally, there is no need to keep cuddling the man now that his forte seems to be back alive. Jiyan is no longer warming him but soaking in the heat from the man instead. But weirdly enough, in some way, it seems to patch up some of the tears in his heart, melting the cracks together with a mere hug. They still hurt, still throbbing in pain, but it isn’t surprising that the only one capable of fixing him is the one who ruined him, to begin with. He knows that they will be torn anew into him afterwards, he can imagine the words the man would throw at him for this, but for now, he can melt into him, indulge selfishly in what he wishes for most in this world. He knows he is merely deluding himself, but even if this is the last time he ever gets to feel his skin against his own, it will be enough for him to leave happy, enough to deal with the grief of losing it all over again. He knows it will be worse, that it will grind the last of him into dust. But would it be so bad after all?

He doesn't know how long he stays there like this, wrapped around the general like a scarf, but he can feel sleep clouding his mind, begging to be allowed to sink fully into this comfort. He should have known that it would come to this. He had slept too little in the past few days, eaten not enough and used up more energy than he actually had left to spare. He doesn’t quite manage to nod off before Geshu Lin's words pull him back from that cliff edge:

“Jiyan?”

He hums, urging the man to carry on. His eyes remain closed, and he is still glued to the general. Oh. He should stop now, give the man his room and dignity. Surely he wouldn’t want Jiyan so close to him after what happened last time. And surely the man wants his clothes back as well. Jiyan didn’t even think about how horrible it must be for the general. He had made sure that there was no lost love between them after all, and Jiyan was still here, still clinging to him like a little child. He doesn’t get to do what he planned on. The moment his arms loosen across the man’s chest, the fingers wrapped around his arm tighten their grip to the point of pain surging through his nerves. Will there be another set of fingershaped bruises there for Yhan to worry over? He doesn’t get to wonder for long as the small hitch in the man’s breath all but douses him in cold water. Geshu Lin whispers so silently, almost helplessly: “Don’t.”

Jiyan’s eyes snap open even if it changes nothing. He is certain that the surprise on his face is evident. General Geshu Lin had never made a single sound like this in his life. Is he sick? Was there something Jiyan had missed? What if Geshu Lin had hit his head? Careful fingers trace over the man’s skull, but there is no blood, no hisses of pain and no obvious swelling anywhere. Only a confused whine answers him. He is forced to admit that there are no signs of head injury that he could feel. Why is he so painfully different? Is he perhaps… No, he can’t be pretending just to hurt him worse. Geshu Lin doesn’t need such underhanded tactics, he never has.

“Why?” he mumbles, voice almost silent. Confusion courses through him, driving worry to claw at his heart, he had been sure that he had it all figured out. Hell, he thought that he knew what the man wanted and didn’t want. So why would the man crave his touch when he had been so adamant mere days ago that whatever feelings Jiyan held for him would never be returned? Why does he now sound like the mere thought of letting him go is driving him into a panic? General Geshu Lin doesn’t panic, the man doesn’t even worry, ever confident like a strong oak standing in the middle of the field, taking everything nature gives him and merely growing stronger from it. So why is he now so… un-Geshu-like

“I….” There is a long pause as if the words themselves hurt him too much to be said out loud, yet eventually, he carries on.

“I don’t want to lie to you anymore,” he whispers, his voice barely audible, yet Jiyan still picks up each word as if it is pure gold that falls from Geshu Lin’s lips. Anything to understand what the hell is going on here. Anything to know WHY?

“Lie?” he wonders out loud, the general nods against his shoulder, yet it takes him long minutes before he speaks again.

“Do you know what was the hardest thing during my military career?” 

Jiyan shakes his head, afraid that if he were to speak, he would startle the man out of whatever fragile state of mind had brought on this insistent honesty. Geshu Lin had never explained himself, the man had never felt the need for it. Jiyan knows it, knows that getting answers from his general would be worse than pulling teeth with no anaesthetic. 

“It wasn’t a battle, or death or all of that goddamn gore that we can never escape from,” he takes a breath, silence falling between them as he seems to collect his wayward thoughts. Minutes pass, and silence stretches. Worry gnaws at his heart as whatever the man wants to say seems to get caught up in his throat over and over again.

“It was telling… telling you I don’t lo… that I don’t care for you,” he whispers. Jiyan opens his mouth and closes it again as a single finger presses against his lips. He needs to tell the man to let him know that there are no obligations, no need for him to return feelings that he never asked for, no matter how much it pains Jiyan to know that the one person his heart had chosen in his life would never choose him back. The finger remains pressed against his lips until he nods softly, allowing the man to carry on with whatever he wishes to say.

“All I wanted was to pull you closer, kiss you back, tell you I…,” he stumbles over the word briefly, “..love you too.” His hands gripping Jiyan’s tremble, his voice shaking like a leaf in an autumn storm. Jiyan’s heart might have just skipped a beat - or stopped altogether. It pains him, but he tries his best to swallow the lump in his throat back down. It is cruel to him, but Geshu Lin had never been overly kind to begin with. Jiyan will endure no matter how long it takes, how much it will hurt; he can’t allow that one single chance he might ever have to go to waste. He can’t just throw away what might be the only possibility to ever hear Geshu Lin explain himself, to ever glance inside that mind of his. To hear his honest thoughts, his feelings . So he hugs the man just a notch closer, careful not to hurt his ribs but convey his presence enough to calm his erratic breathing that is threatening to stumble into the painful territory if he doesn’t stop soon. Anything to keep him calm enough so he could talk, so he could, for once, explain himself. Why the hell would he lay his hand on Jiyan only to turn around and claim to love him?

“Why didn’t you?” he asks instead. He tries not to let the pain in his heart show, but the slight wince from the man in his arms tells him well enough that he failed. It hurt like hell to know that the man didn’t want him, it hurt even worse to know that he did and still chose to tear him into shreds. How could he claim to love him when it hadn’t been difficult for him to pull out the thread that had kept him together? If anything, the question sends Geshu Lin further into his panic, he takes a breath too deep, too sharp and is left doubling over in his arms again, a small cry of pain fighting itself loose from his lips. Fuck, he didn’t mean to hurt him… He didn’t enjoy it, in fact, he hated hearing the man in pain. Perhaps fate thought it fair, but Jiyan’s heart still bled.

Geshu Lin tries his best to speak through the pain, his words are gasping and erratic, forcing him to stop after mere phrases to breathe, to calm, yet he starts anew before he has recovered, sending himself all over into another attack before the first one finishes. Hearing him like this is tearing Jiyan apart all over again. He had thought for so long that the general hadn’t cared if he broke him, if there was nothing left of him afterwards, yet now it is starting to sound more and more like he tore himself apart with that same vigour, if not worse. The heavy guilt painting his words is hard to bear.

“I didn’t… want… suffer.” Each of his words comes out as if speaking them takes all of his strength, all of his willpower, all of his air. His desperate gasps for oxygen between each pained whine cause tears to spring into Jiyan’s eyes all over again. 

“Not…. good.”

“The things… they… said...” It is clear it pains him greatly, and despite everything that he had said to Jiyan, there is still a part of him that wishes more than anything to help, to be able to just take all that pain away from him, to let him breathe easy, even if just for a moment.

“Magistrate…. your home…I didn’t want…”

The man’s agony is grating to bear, so carefully he tears one of his hands free from his iron grip, pressing it against the man’s mouth, stilling his frantic whispers before he could hurt himself even further. Jiyan is the one who would get the lecture about compromising the general’s health after all, not a single medic in that camp would dare to utter a single word to the man himself, but they would gladly sharpen their tongues on him.  It is clear even to the blind that his talking, his utterly out-of-control breathing patterns, are hurting him, every few phrases accompanied by pained gasps and whines that tear Jiyan apart all over again. Geshu Lin had never cared about himself, always too willingly putting himself through agony, through hell for whatever damn reason he sees fit. Jiyan knows that this time it is his fault. He is the reason the man is torturing himself. He hates it with a passion. Geshu Lin should never see fit to cause himself pain, even less so should he do it for Jiyan’s sake.

“Breathe,” he orders. There are many things the man could do to him for daring to order him around. He almost expects anger and hissed words that remind him to know his place. Yet the only thing he does is follow the instructions, sucking in the air more calmly and not saying another word until the pattern normalizes. 

The man mumbles two words against his palm that seemingly pull the plug on whatever was keeping Jiyan’s brimming tears at bay. He never expected Geshu Lin’s vocabulary to contain those particular ones. He had, after all, never heard the man utter the two that have now been pressed against his skin with a gentle, lingering kiss.

“I’m sorry.”

The tears are slow to trail down his cheeks, the feeling of them staining his face so painfully familiar by now. He cries silently, no sharp inhales or loud sobs, just flowing water soaking the white strands and the bare skin of Geshu Lin’s shoulder. Jiyan moves his hand from the general's lips, cupping it against his cheek instead, caressing the skin there with his thumb. He bites back a sob as he feels the tip of his fingers come away wet. If he couldn’t recognise the clothes, if he didn’t know that voice by heart, he might have considered that he had the wrong man. General Geshu Lin does not cry. Ever! No matter what happened, the endless indifference always remained with him. Emotions had never been the man’s strongest suit, as it seems. Feeling the man’s pain trickle against his fingers is something Jiyan would have thought impossible. He had been almost certain that Geshu Lin strived on others’ pain. The bastard laughed in death’s face like a maniac, not giving a damn whether his soldiers lived or died - whether he lived or died - what mattered was securing Jinzhou’s future, no matter how great the price. He lived for victory and only victory. 

Yet it couldn’t be mistaken. Now that he has noticed it is impossible to miss the slight tremors in his body, the tears falling from his eyes, soaking the skin where the man is burying his face deeper against him, closer and closer, the rasp in his voice as he keeps mumbling apology after apology into his neck - general Geshu Lin is truly crying in between his arms. Jiyan figured it couldn’t get worse, but it hurts, badly. He had thought that the endless rollercoaster could not get steeper, but it was impossible to mistake, even if his reasoning was broken and unclear, utterly confusing Jiyan, it was quite clear that Geshu Lin hadn’t lied when he said he cared. 

The wheezing cries are breaking Jiyan’s heart into pieces, tearing it apart again and again. He had truly believed that the man had enjoyed the pain he had caused, that doing so had meant nothing to him but a sick entertainment to laugh about. Yet here they are, Geshu Lin clinging to him as if letting go meant the end of the world to him, begging Jiyan for forgiveness when Geshu Lin never begs anyone. The man had never made a request or asked anything, for him to plead was just not something the Geshu Lin he thought he knew would be doing. Hell, the man would rather tear everyone a new one and laugh in their face should they dare to imply that he may have feelings, that he, too, may be human. Perhaps that is why no one dares to view him as anything but a means to an end. Are Geshu Lin’s own actions what have pushed the people to think so lowly of him?

It takes this for Jiyan to realise that perhaps he too has been wrong, he too has been unfair to the man. He clearly doesn’t know the general even half as well as he thought he did. Is there really room for him to claim to love the man if he hardly knows him underneath whatever masks he dons? Because that’s what it is, isn’t it? Geshu Lin is just an excellent actor, excellent at burying himself underneath the expectations of him, no matter how much they pain him. Had something truly happened that made him bury whoever he truly was so deep underneath that it seemed impossible to pull him afloat again?  Perhaps that train of thought should wait. Calming the man back down and getting back to camp should definitely take priority over this mess that keeps plaguing his mind. They can speak of this when the situation is more stable. Jiyan does not care how much the general argues, hell, he can kill him for all he cares, but once the man is well enough, he refuses to succumb to this answerless fate of confusion and pain. He will drag the truth out from those lips no matter the means.

“Breathe, we can talk about this later too, okay,” he whispers, caressing the man’s cheek gently.

“No, I… I need to, I… laid there,” his breathing seems to get worse again, so Jiyan shushes him gently, placing his finger against the man’s trembling lips. His own broken heart still throbs, and he can’t quite forget the hand around his throat, but he is willing to listen. No, he needs to listen, needs to understand what had pushed the man to make the choices he did. Geshu Lin did nothing without a good enough reason, certainly not even that was without one. Jiyan just needs to be patient enough, and he will find out.

“Later, I promise we can talk about everything later, you need medical attention, and I’m certain that Yhan is about to have a heart attack,” he laughs, trying to somewhat lighten the mood, even though it sounds fake even to his own ears. For a moment, it seems clear that the man will object, yet eventually, he nods his head, accepting the terms. They remain sitting like that, both of them lost somewhere in their heads. It takes Geshu Lin a long while to calm his violently erratic breathing again, and Jiyan holds him throughout it all. Even once peace settles, neither of them moves or talks until Geshu Lin whispers softly: ”I want to be selfish, Jiyan.” 

“I never said you couldn’t be,” he shrugs. Wherever the man had got the notion from, he had been mistaken. Jiyan would never have minded, weirdly enough he should mind now, he should be pissed and enraged for the pain that has been caused to him, and yet he finds that if it means he gets Geshu Lin back, he doesn’t mind at all. His mother would call him a lunatic, and at this point, he isn’t sure that she isn’t right. But who knows, perhaps it isn’t so bad that she is correct about something for once. 

Carefully, he detangles himself from Geshu Lin, shushing the man softly when a confused noise escapes his lips. Jiyan gets up from the ground and throws his now dry clothes on - sentinel above, Qingloong truly was heaven-sent - before turning his attention back to the general. His touch is gentle as he helps the man get dressed, too. Perhaps he is a notch too tender, but he would rather not aggravate his wounds further. The trip will do so no matter what.

“Come on, Geshu Lin, let’s take you back home,” he says, bowing to pick the man back up.

“You called me by my name…” There is a wonder in his voice as if something he believed to be impossible had transpired. Jiyan can imagine that he is staring at him, eyes wide, and though it would have felt impossible mere days ago, perhaps the general is after all capable of showing this softer side of himself if he only tries. Jiyan smiles at him, tilting his head to the side as had become a habit for him. It might be one of the first truly genuine smiles to grace his lips after, well, the incident . He doesn’t see the answering lift of lips on the other man’s face, but he can hear the soft “thank you” whispered against his skin as they head out of the cave system with a dragon wagging its tail ahead of them like a proper puppy. 

Almost shyly, three fast taps land against his shoulder, yet when he hums, waiting for the man to say what he had planned to, only silence answers him.

***

Their journey back home is a quiet affair, with Geshu Lin securely in his arms and a teal dragon by his side. Jiyan sincerely hopes that the man doesn’t mind being held like a bride  - but oh well, he has earned at least something as payback and isn’t that just a perfect one? Geshu Lin had bothered too much with rumours before, no matter how indifferent he claims to be. He can enjoy the show as it takes on enormous dimensions as a result of a single decision. Who knows what the soldiers will come up with, all Jiyan knows is that the grindstones of the rumour mill will be sizzling by the end of the day. He doesn't even mind, they can say what they want about him, can't get much worse than his own mother anyway. And Geshu Lin? He'll merely scare them into oblivion should they cross a line. They’ll be just fine.

In addition to the teal dragon leading them down winding paths, the general whispers instructions against his neck as well, warning him of rocks and cracks in the ground. Hell, he even points out quite a few plants with medicinal properties. It surprises him that Geshu Lin can even recognise them, to begin with, but Jiyan merely laughs. The general can come to get them himself if he so wishes. Jiyan has had quite enough of all mountain climbing endeavours to last him a year or more. No amount of rare herbs could tempt him to change his mind on that. At least Qingloong had shown them mercy as well, leading them back by a longer route that didn’t involve climbing any cliffsides. How they would have managed that is certainly a mystery, Jiyan doesn’t want to dwell on. Some things are fine without an answer.

It is inevitable that his fears eventually come true. The teal dragon starts flickering in and out of existence when the camp is barely visible on the horizon - according to Geshu Lin, at least. Stubbornly, he forces his forte to stay. He must be able to do it on his own, no matter what. He must prove that he could have done it even if Geshu Lin had been unconscious. Even if the only one who demands that proof is Jiyan himself.

They don’t quite make it to the gates of the camp before someone is screaming his name, loud and clear. He recognises Yhan’s voice, but it is still far, and the frantic footsteps of others box them in before Jiyan is even fully back within the territory. Medics rush around them, asking hundreds of questions all at once. He winces slightly as their loud voices cut through the headache that has wormed its way into existence at some point. He hadn’t even noticed…

He tells them all he knows just to get them to finally hush. It is with utmost reluctance that he relinquishes Geshu Lin into their care. Rationally, he knows it is for the best. He needs help that Jiyan can’t provide anymore. He knows that he has already done everything he could, yet the words don’t really feel like comfort. They feel empty, as if he is lying to themselves. And more than anything, he wants to be the one to help, to patch the man up again and get a lecture for bothering with papercuts that have no business even being on his radar. It has been so long that only Jiyan has been Geshu Lin’s personal medic, it almost feels like a crime to allow another to take that place away from him as well. Somewhere between his thoughts, his hold on Qingloong finally shatters, and the dragon flickers out of existence before Jiyan can thank it for all it has done for them tonight.

He doesn’t get to mourn either the dragon or the lack of the general’s heat for long. Warm arms wrap around him, pulling him against a strong chest, and for a moment it feels like he will join Geshu Lin in the medbay a lot sooner than expected, just to get his ribs treated for fractures or even breaks, but then Yhan allows his hold to relax a notch and Jiyan can breathe again.

“You absolute mad lad! Don’t you ever pull a stunt like that again, or I will personally tie you into the first chair I get a hold of!” the man scolds, cupping his face in between his palms, turning him this and that way, clearly checking for injuries that he won’t find. He throws his arms back around Jiyan and crushes him into another borderline painful hug. Jiyan wraps his own around the man in return, melting into the embrace that almost threatens to strangle him.

“I thought I would have to bury both of you, you reckless bastards!”

Jiyan laughs against the older man’s shoulder. He did tell Geshu Lin that the man would throw a fit, guess he had been right after all. Perhaps he had judged at least one of them correctly. He wasn’t yet sure, but maybe he hadn’t been that wrong about Geshu Lin either. The man might yet surprise him.

Yhan merely sighs as an answer.

“I’m glad you’re back, Jiyan,” he says, and after a long moment of silence, he carries on: “Still, it does not mean that you and I aren’t going to have a long conversation before you set another foot out of my sight!” 

Jiyan doesn’t bother with an answer, instead, he just melts into the hug, Yhan’s tight hold so deeply reminding him of the way his father used to hold him when he was still a mere child. He doesn’t know why the man chose to take him under his wing, but in the end, it doesn’t even matter. Yhan is as much of a father to him as his biological one had been, and Jiyan wouldn’t complain about that in a million years, frantic fussing or not.

Without another word, Yhan steers him away, back into Jiyan’s room, sending him off to shower as soon as the door closes behind them with a soft click. While he isn’t wet anymore and Geshu Lin made for an excellent heater, the hot water still seeps into him, driving away the cutting cold the sharp winds had left in him after all. His mind wanders, thoughts straying to the soft white hair and piercing golden eyes, to those scalding hugs that leave him yearning to be allowed to stay for the rest of eternity. The comfort is inevitably shadowed by the pain he can’t yet quite shake.

The general confuses him. He had known that Geshu Lin is an excellent actor, capable of portraying whatever he deems necessary to achieve his goals. Yet he had never been good at pretending to worm in front of others. He would rather exchange his words for a whip than grovel. The man despised shows of weakness with a passion unrivalled. Yet he had begged Jiyan for forgiveness. Had the situation been different, Jiyan wouldn’t put it beneath the man to kneel in front of him, and the thought scares him. His mind is twisted into knots he isn’t sure he can untangle. Geshu Lin had tried his best to get his words across, but even then, he was injured, hypothermic, having what Jiyan’s medical mind would classify as a panic attack if the mere mention of something so weak wouldn’t make the general throw a hissy fit with the consequences rivalling the lament.

Jiyan might be blind, but he isn’t stupid. It is obvious that Geshu Lin cares, no,  loves him. He had said so himself, even though the words had been difficult for him, barely able to pass his lips. Had he ever told anyone that he loved them before? Had Jiyan been the first to hear them fall from his tongue? Perhaps he will ask one day, but that isn’t the most important part at all. Geshu Lin had professed his love for Jiyan. Yet none of what he had managed to spew after had offered clear answers as to why he had done what he did. Jiyan truly wasn’t sure, and no matter how he tried to piece the mess together, it made no sense to him at all. In the end, the only person who will ever truly understand the enigma that is General Geshu Lin is sadly only the man himself. Perhaps they could speak of this one day, clear up whatever mess was left between them and turn a new page to replace the soiled one. Perhaps it isn’t too late to fix whatever ravines yawn between the two of them? Yet until that happens, all Jiyan is left with is grasping for theories based on a few panicked words. No conclusion he reaches would be fair to the general, would be as honest as the truth from the man’s own lips.

Eventually, he stumbles out of the shower, hopefully before Yhan could think that he drowned himself in there and comes searching. He dresses quietly in the pair of fresh clothes he had grabbed beforehand, his neck feeling utterly naked in the regular shirt, but he ignores the sensation of air against bare skin and throws the soiled set into the basket waiting for a wash. He will deal with them when it no longer feels like Jué had kicked his feet out from underneath him, when it no longer seems as if the dragon had flipped the earth around, set it to move in a wildly different direction as he merely laughs over his scrambling subjects. When that is, he doubts that even the sentinel himself knows. Whenever he tires of the entertainment, most likely…

Almost silently, he steps out of the room, listening for a moment to pinpoint the man who is supposed to be somewhere here. Two thumps echo as an answer, and Jiyan instinctively turns to face the sound. Wordlessly, he joins Yhan again, sitting next to the man on the foot of his haphazardly made bed. He is too tired to even feel embarrassed about the mess.

“I’m starting to think that your entire goal in this life is to give me grey hairs and cause my early demise,” the rough voice eventually says. 

“Well, you already have some grey up there,” he laughs. Oh, it is good to be back. Perhaps somewhere deep down, he has worried after all, if he will ever see the man again. He knew the risks when he left, and he made his peace with them a long time ago, but it doesn’t mean that it won’t hurt if it happens.

“Those are from Geshu Lin, you need your own,” Yhan grumbles before elbowing him in the ribs to get his attention and hands him a hot cup of tea. Jiyan can feel the steam that rises from it waft against his face. He nods his thanks towards the man, cradling the cup close to himself. For a long moment, they sit there, just inhaling its sweet scent, before he lifts it to his lips and drinks. 

“It isn’t that bad,” he protests softly after a long moment.

“Oh yes, not that bad. First, you faint and then you decide that a nice little walk into monster-infested wilderness is just the thing you need…” Jiyan’s laughter forces the tea down the wrong pipe, and he is left coughing violently. Yhan thumps against his back until he can breathe again.

“And then you attempt to drown yourself with tea, just my luck, isn’t it?” the man grumbles, but there is an unmistakable fondness in his voice and a smile that he can’t help, stretches across Jiyan’s lips. 

“Just a bad coincidence, I promise.”

“Oh, absolutely not, what the hell were you even thinking?”

Jiyan sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, just above the tacet mark that still feels tender from how much energy he had poured into his forte tonight. He hardly notices the exhaustion that sinks into his body as he allows himself to relax against the softness of the bed underneath him. It is tempting to just fall onto his back and let reality fade to the background, just sleep everything away until nothing remains but comfort. He tries to refrain, Yhan is worried as is, and Jiyan isn’t sure he wouldn’t take this as another fainting spell worthy of a heart attack.

“Merely doing my duty,” he answers eventually, fighting that sweet temptation of sleep from his mind. There are still things that need to be done, and he can’t allow the exhaustion plaguing him to keep him from them. Yhan needs placating before he truly does either have a heart attack or wrings someone’s neck. And considering Geshu Lin’s current track record in the man’s eyes, Jiyan would rather keep him away from the general as long as physically possible. Sheep are healthy, wolf has eaten. He will also have to check on Geshu Lin, even if it means he has to sneak himself into the medbay somehow. The guards would be easy, they would even escort him if he asked, but from there onwards? That’s where it gets difficult - the medics would surely demand peace for their patients, and no amount of begging would get him in there after the so-called visiting hours. Yet he knows for sure that worry would cloud his dreams, that the old pain would keep him awake, that the confusion simmering deep inside would blow the small bubbles of doubt into something much bigger. Perhaps the oh-so-constant heat of the general would burn them away before they get the chance to drown Jiyan alive. 

Perhaps he is too dependent on a man who could spew vitriol one day and confess his undying love the next, yet the heart wants what it wants, and Jiyan is but a slave to its wishes. He knows that it isn’t the healthiest, but at the same time, he can’t stop either. Perhaps he could learn one day to deal with it, to exist independently of his general who had dictated almost every one of his moves for years. Or better yet, exist on equal footing with the man.

“If you were doing this from the sense of duty, you would have bothered the medics in medbay instead, but no, you went out to the most dangerous place in Jinzhou alone for a wild goose hunt.” There is agitation in his voice, but it doesn’t mean that the clear worry for Jiyan’s safety doesn’t seep in. 

“I found him,” he shrugs. He can understand Yhan, he isn’t stupid, of course, the man would worry. Yet the thought that Geshu Lin could have died out there - no, most definitely would have - cold and alone, without a single person in this world coming after him just so Jiyan could sit between four walls and be safe? No, he could never live with the weight of that. No matter the cost, he would have made the same decision over and over again.

“And I commend you for that. However, I am not an idiot, you wouldn’t have gone had it been anyone else but him.”

“That’s true….” he whispers, lowering his head. The hair cascading freely down his back, over the towel he had tossed on his shoulders, falls forward to hide the gentle flush upon his cheeks. Perhaps he really shouldn’t have told the older man a damn thing. He will yet find a way to tease him for it. Yhan, after all, won’t leave the bone alone before he has gotten every scrap of meat off of it, in that way, he is just like Geshu Lin. If it means underhanded tactics? Jiyan is certain that it wouldn’t stop either of them.

“Can’t say I fault you, all I wish is that both of you took better care of yourselves,” he sighs eventually. Geshu Lin had never taken good care of himself to begin with, even Jiyan had buried all hope for a miracle, but Yhan was right, Jiyan hadn’t been exactly good at it either when it came to recent days.

“I’m not going anywhere while you are breathing down my neck, Yhan,” he laughs, hoping that perhaps the sombre mood that had settled over the older man would lift. Or just get a bit better. Yhan, without his bright smile, is something Jiyan never wants to get used to. 

“Better not.” A warm arm wraps around his shoulders, pulling him close into a tight side hug, not giving a damn about Jiyan’s still soaked hair or his half-full tea cup that he hurriedly lifts to his lips and tosses the rest of it back as well to save it from certain doom.

Oh well, if Yhan doesn’t care, why should he? So he leans his head against the older man’s shoulder. It is clear that water seeps into the uniform, but Yhan doesn’t say anything, so Jiyan allows himself to just sink into the comfort offered. They both need it.

“You alright?” Yhan asks after a long bout of silence.

“Yeah, just… confused.”

Yhan hums softly, the question in his voice clear as he urges him to elaborate. It takes Jiyan a few minutes to figure out how to even approach the topic without selling out entirely, that the general, their strong, immovable general, had cried between his arms like a small child, begging for forgiveness. Geshu Lin would most certainly kill him if he ever found out he told Yhan anything at all, but to speak of this as well? No, some things should remain only between him and his general. The father doesn’t need to know everything after all. 

“He, well, he said he loves me…” he mutters eventually.

“Knowing the general, there was not a single explanation why that came with his previous actions.” Yhan sighs.

“He… tried. He truly wasn’t in any state to have that conversation, and the single phrases didn’t explain a lot.” 

“Geshu Lin can be an idiot, he gets stuck in his own head, and even when he means well, he isn’t the best with the execution.” Yhan sounds almost as tired as Jiyan feels.

“I have a feeling you know something I don’t,” he grumbles.

“I do, but I believe it is best you hear it from him and not me.”

Jiyan’s head snaps up from where it had been comfortably lying on Yhan’s shoulder, his eyes wide as he turns to face the man. The hand from his back disappears, and he is almost certain that Yhan has his hands raised in the face of Jiyan’s furrowing eyebrows.

“You told him after all, didn’t you?” he demands lowly. 

“I promised not to hurt him, I didn’t say a thing about talking,” Yhan laughs, the sound loud in the silent room. Whatever anger had settled in him is wiped away in an instant, and an embarrassed squeak is all that escapes him as he flushes red instead.

“Oh no, you didn’t,” he whispers eventually, quickly placing the now empty tea cup down next to his foot before hiding his face in his hands. Oh, how he wishes that the ground would open beneath him and just swallow him whole. Why the hell has he been blessed with people in his life who all thrive off of teasing him? Can’t he catch a damn break for once?

“Put you to bed and pretty much kicked his door down, you should have seen his face!” 

“Never do that again, please,” Jiyan mutters, mortified. What will Geshu Lin even say? Would the man think that he sent Yhan after him? Oh, sentinel above… but Yhan sounds so proud of what he has done… No, that isn’t the point!

“Jiyan, he is a good friend, but there is no competition between friends and sons. I will whack sense into him as long as he keeps being a damn idiot,” the man says, pulling him back into his hold, crushing him into a hug all over again.

“I believe it is considered insubordination to hit a commanding officer.”

“What is he going to do? Start training all the recruits himself?” Yhan laughs, “Yeah, right, he ain’t got the patience for that.” Jiyan can’t really help the small snort of laughter that escapes him. Geshu Lin indeed would not have the patience. By the end of the week, someone would definitely be dead, or at least the general would be in such a glowing mood that no one would dare to step a foot within a two-mile radius of him if they had the damn chance. Jiyan wouldn’t be surprised if the damn threnodian packed his bags together and walked away just to get rid of Geshu Lin’s wrath.

“Thank you, Yhan,” he smiles towards the older man, sincerely happy that something in him had sparked that mother hen. It would never be the same as his own father, but to have someone so irrevocably in your corner is a comfort that Jiyan will never give up if he has the chance. 

“Any day, son, and if he ever pulls another stunt like that, he will need a will.”

“For your sake, I hope not,” Jiyan laughs. Yhan is like a small dog in spirit. Not even his full strength would be enough to harm the general if the man didn’t allow him to, yet he wholeheartedly believes that he would be enough of a force to be reckoned with, enough to cause harm worthy of a will. Yhan merely pats him on the shoulder. Jiyan is sure that the man is shaking his head fondly as he always does with a light smile on his lips. He doesn’t get to wonder for long before the older man takes advantage of his wandering mind, pulling him into a headlock and messing up all of his still wet hair. He has Jiyan begging for mercy within moments, the younger man’s loud laughter echoing in the room. It feels good to be able to laugh and mean it.

“Come, you’ve got places to be,” Yhan says, clapping his hands together once before he gets up from the bed.

The single “huh?” that Jiyan mumbles is anything but graceful as Yhan pulls him to his feet and makes a beeline for the door, dragging Jiyan behind him. Oh, to hell with it, what is it with all the men in his life pulling him along as if he is a reluctant pet to be walked! 

“Where are we going?” he demands.

“I’m smuggling you into medbay.”

A small squeak escapes Jiyan’s lips, his cheeks, ears and certainly even the back of his neck burn up in embarrassment. Oh, how he wishes to just bury his face between his hands, sit down on the floor and wait for it to open up underneath him, to swallow him whole. Why must the man tease him so?

Yhan, on the other hand, is relentless, pulling him down the long hallways, telling every guard he is forced to encounter that military advisor Jiyan has gotten injured after all. No one stops them, no one even bats an eye. Avoiding the medics gets interesting. It takes them a while to time their movement well enough to slip through the door of the private room reserved for the general should he ever be injured. By some insane miracle, the only person occupying it is indeed the man himself, deep asleep. His breathing isn’t as even as it could be, but it is still a lot better than the shallow mess it had been before.

“There you go,” Yhan whispers to him, “don’t stay too long, you look dead on your feet.”

Carefully, he leaves the room, closing the door behind him with a barely audible click. Jiyan stands there, his ear turned towards where they came from, listening to see if anyone had noticed. Only silence answers him, and he relaxes. Yhan sure knows the camp and the people in it like the back of his own hand.

Jiyan makes his way forward, shuffling his feet until his legs pump against the bed frame. Trust the blind man and the one dragging him everywhere to forget his walking aid… Even if he had planned on returning to his rooms, he decides that he has enough of an excuse to placate himself. Yhan will forgive him eventually. He always will. And no one else needs his explanations. Perhaps only Geshu Lin himself.

He creeps to the left side of the bed, ghosting his hands across the mattress before moving onto the general's hand and arm, running up towards his face - there are no machines attached to him here. Gently, trying his best not to bother the man, not to wake him, not to cause him pain, he curls up in bed next to him. Jiyan steers clear of his ribs, but lays his head against the man’s shoulder, leaning his forehead against the side of his neck. Geshu Lin’s steady breathing calms him, and he sinks into the familiar warmth, allowing himself to finally relax into a puddle of comfort that he had spent entire nights and sometimes even days floating in just a mere week ago.

Lying next to the general is a tight fit, the bed is clearly meant only for one and not two grown men. Hell, Geshu Lin had always made sure that everyone and their pet rock knew that he thought the bed too narrow for even himself, that he could never move freely without feeling like a little breeze would send him over the edge. Yet Jiyan makes it work, he ignores the feeling of emptiness behind him, knowing that not all of him is fitting onto the bed as well as it should, but as that warm arm wraps around his waist and pulls him even closer, as that hot breath exhales his name while still asleep, all doubt flushes away and certainty that he made the right choice settles in its place instead. 

He is inevitably lulled into deep sleep, exhaustion tearing him down as soon as he settles, and Geshu Lin is of no help in keeping Jiyan awake either. He’ll just have to get up before the general, sit down in the chair and pretend with the straightest of faces that he got here mere minutes and not hours ago.

Despite his oh-so-grand plan, Jiyan wakes to the feeling of calloused fingers combing through his hair. Every time the rough skin snags behind a knot, the general tries his best to untangle the strands, his success, on the other hand, varies. Some of them do come loose, the others insistently stay as they are. Jiyan moves his head slightly upwards, facing the general. He is certain that there is a sheepish expression on his face. This is most definitely not how it was supposed to go. But when had Jiyan’s plans ever worked out before?

“I recall a certain medic reinforcing the visiting hours with an iron fist, and yet here you are.”

Geshu Lin’s voice is rough like gravel, low, with sleep clouding it. Yet, Jiyan wants to keep listening to him talk, just stay here and hear that voice hum a song to him like it did before. Oh, how he has missed this. Considering that Geshu Lin hasn’t shoved him off the bed first thing upon waking, perhaps the man hasn’t changed his mind, perhaps he is still willing to talk with Jiyan, to explain himself.

“Good thing I am not a medic anymore,” he eventually says, a small smile stretching across his lips as he looks up towards the man.  He doesn’t see the way Geshu Lin’s eyes soften at the sight. And oh, what a view it is, Jiyan lying next to the general, ethereal, his hair loose and cascading gracefully, so similar to a river flowing down a mountain, his grin so sweet and bright, despite his eyes being dull and unseeing, they still crinkle at the corners. Geshu Lin could stare at him forever, and never get enough.

“I’m certain that whoever has been left in charge of me won’t share your sentiment,” Geshu Lin laughs, but the sound is carefully crafted, meant to move his ribcage as little as possible. Dread rushes through him as Jiyan realises how closely he is pressed against the general’s side, against his potentially broken ribs. This is not where he laid down last night, he hadn’t been threatening the man’s injuries in any shape or form! It must be visible on his face because he can’t even attempt to escape before the hot palm from his hair trails down his back, down to his waist, pulling him impossibly close to Geshu Lin’s side again. The shape of his hand is like a brand of fire against his flesh, and the shudder that rattles through him at the small act of possessiveness leaves his cheeks tinting red. He can feel the heat of blush, selling him out to the general - again.

“You’re not hurting me, they’re merely fractured, on the other side.”

Slowly, Jiyan sinks down against him, letting his head fall back to rest on the man’s shoulder. Geshu Lin doesn’t move his arm again, but his thumb caresses in slow teasing circles, the single layer between their skin does little to keep Jiyan’s thoughts out of the goddamn gutter. The small tingling of pain and confusion most certainly helps, though. He came for answers, not to have everything brushed underneath a rug to never see daylight again. 

Or perhaps it is the exceptional self-control he prides himself on that allows him to force the image of those warm hands gripping his waist till there are marks out of his mind. He is certain that despite his best efforts, Geshu Lin is damn well aware of everything crossing Jiyan’s thoughts to the point that he could have just told them out loud and gotten the same results. Oh, he is way too easy…

“How bad,” he whispers, finally giving voice to what has been plaguing his mind since finding the man. Thinking about injuries is a good way to get his mind off of that damn palm that makes him wonder about things he has never dared to think about before. The fact that it is a lie will remain only for him to know about. Geshu Lin has no reason to learn the depth of sin in Jiyan’s mind when no one looks. He is certain that it will come up eventually, but for the sake of his dignity, it will most definitely not be now. For the sentinel's sake, a single hand on his waist is enough to have his mind short-circuit. Jiyan would die should anything more be brought up.

“Broken leg, fractured ribs, badly bruised shoulder -apparently a miracle that it wasn’t dislocated, her words, not mine - a few scrapes here and there.” 

He rattles the list off nonchalantly as if he had merely bumped his toes against a chair. Jiyan doesn’t get to protest, doesn’t get to remind the general endlessly that their definition of papercuts is wildly different. Chapped lips press against his head, dry and warm, but it is enough to force his mouth shut with a small click of his teeth slamming together.

“Jiyan, there is no permanent damage, I’ll heal.”

He hums in answer, dropping his arguments for now. There will be a time and place where he can nag the general’s ear off for how reckless he is with himself, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be now. He can wait. Geshu Lin, on the other hand, grumbles under his breath: “You worry too much,” but he doesn’t sound angry like usual, no, it seems almost like… fondness.

“You’re not exactly famous for taking your injuries seriously, that’s all,” he whispers back, but the accusation on his lips is mild.

Silence settles between them. The general doesn’t say a single thing in his defence, and Jiyan doesn’t bother with words either. Instead, he allows the comfort to lull him, his consciousness floating somewhere between sleep and reality, soaking in everything around him for as long as he can. Part of him still doubts, still fears that the man would change his mind with a mere snap of his fingers and cast him aside again. He yearns to bring it up, to lay those doubts to rest, but that would shatter the comfort he is allowed to bask in, and that is something he isn’t keen on doing just yet. He inevitably decides to leave it for later - if there ever is such a thing as “later” for the two of them. 

Their peace is destroyed when the clock strikes seven and the medics start their morning rounds, checking up on everyone and bringing breakfast to those who are capable of eating on their own. It has been obvious from the start that the medics will have something to say about Jiyan’s presence. Just as expected, the one entering the room is far from happy to find him there. Perhaps the only reason she doesn’t toss him out by the scruff as if he is a disobedient kitten is his long and frankly spotless service as a medic himself. Or it could be the withering glare trained on her from above Jiyan’s head that he doesn’t even notice. Her mouth snaps shut mid-sentence as the man pulls Jiyan seemingly closer, tightening his hold around him so it borders on the line, threatening to cross over into painful territory.

“He stays or I’m leaving,” he growls lowly. The medic weighs her choices and decides, eventually, that she can squeeze her eye shut for now. Jiyan stays exactly where he is - general’s orders are general’s orders after all, and she is not willing to spend her time and brain cells on an argument she would never win. Jiyan could have told her from the start that it is pointless. Geshu Lin is frankly a bastard, he gets what he wants, no matter the cost. And if he wants Jiyan in his arms, not even the entire medical team would be able to change his mind. In fact, not even Jiyan would be able to talk sense into him. Sentinel knows he has tried many times before with no results to show for it.

She places the tray in her hands on the small bedside table, leaving the room and soon returning with another one meant for Jiyan. It is almost hilarious how easily she gives up, choosing to just let the man do whatever the hell he wants. Well, it is the stand most of the camp has taken. It is easier this way - safer. Arguing with Geshu Lin when you aren’t either Jiyan or Yhan is frankly a suicide mission waiting to happen. Not many would be willing to take the risk.

Geshu Lin is eventually forced to let go of Jiyan in favour of demanding that they eat. Jiyan merely groans at the thought, only getting up when he can feel the intense eyes boring holes into his skull. The man releases him extremely reluctantly, his actions heavily contradicting each other to the point of utter confusion welling inside Jiyan. He says one thing, but his body tells a different tale. The hand around him refuses to fall away even when he is finally sitting up, the hold is awkward, but it stays where it is. As if the man is afraid that losing contact would mean something horrible for the two of them.

They eat in silence, Jiyan helping Geshu Lin sit up enough for it even if the man claims he needs no help. Yet he still winces slightly as his torso moves away from the position he had settled in. The man shovels his entire breakfast down at record speed, tray clattering back against the bedside table before Jiyan is even through half of his own. Geshu Lin lays back down with a soft groan before Jiyan could even rush to his aid, waving his concern away and ordering him to finish his damn food first. He can feel those golden eyes fixed on him with each bite he takes. Like a dog begging for the scraps, counting mouthfuls and waiting for something to drop.  Frankly, it's distracting him, and the entire endeavour takes him longer than it should have. Yet when he finishes, Geshu Lin sighs, one of those sounds that Yhan makes whenever he is relieved, yet the general has never done so before. Had he been happy to see Jiyan eat? Why…? 

Then the lightbulb goes off. He will personally strangle Yhan if the man told the general about his brief moment of weakness - if he told him about anything . He doesn't need him to hover as well! The mere thought of Geshu Lin hovering like a mother hen is absolutely ridiculous! Oh, well, he will deal with that when it bites him in the ass - as it inevitably will until he doesn’t know the extent of the information given. Right now, all he wants is to curl back up against the general and just forget every worry that has ever crossed his mind. He can shake some sense into Yhan later.

A warm embrace and the realisation that the man isn't on his back anymore but instead on his side greet him. Strong arms pull him flush against the other, and Geshu Lin hides his nose into the crook of Jiyan's neck, breathing in as deeply as his injured ribs allow him to. 

They stay like this for a long moment before Geshu Lin mutters against his neck, hot breath ghosting against his skin: “Do you think now is a bad time for later…?” He trails off, uncertainty clouding his words, his voice quiet in a way that Jiyan has never heard before.

“I didn't think you would be the one to bring it up,” he says, a soft smile on his lips. Geshu Lin sure is set on surprising him in any way possible. For once, it isn’t a bad thing that the man is absolutely unpredictable. Jiyan actually likes these surprises.

“Did you expect me to pretend nothing happened?” The demand is pained and Jiyan’s smile drops. 

“Would be in character…” he shrugs his shoulder to the best of his ability, the movement languid with the sleep that threatens to take hold of him and sink him in its embrace.

The general flinches - barely - and Jiyan immediately feels bad for the stab. Surely he could have worded it better without stomping all over the man’s emotions, fragile as they were to begin with. He opens his mouth, he should apologise for that. But Geshu Lin interrupts him, laughing. The sound isn’t happy, and somehow it makes him feel even worse.

“I deserved that one…”

“You confuse me,” Jiyan whispers eventually, breaking the somewhat awkward silence that had settled between them. Apparently, neither of them is good at this whole talking thing. But at least they are trying, and that is all that matters. Geshu Lin hums, waiting for him to carry on his train of thought. It is easier said than done. Jiyan spends long minutes searching for the right words to say, in the end settling on only one: “Why?”

That question is starting to become too common between them, fueled by constant confusion that neither of them has managed to settle. Perhaps this time the answer will be more than a mere ‘Does it matter?’ It’s about time they get their things back on track.

Geshu Lin sighs, the sound heavy. For a moment, Jiyan expects him to remain silent, yet the man opens his mouth anyway.

“I wanted to keep you safe and happy.” Jiyan’s eyebrows furrow in even deeper confusion. Which part of that could ever check any of those boxes? Geshu Lin might have operated on a very different path of logic, but this seems like a leap too long even for him.  Jiyan’s lips part, but Geshu Lin carries on before he can get a word out.

“There are so many rumours running amok between the soldiers, saying things about you that should never be repeated,” he whispers, his hand rubbing circles into Jiyan’s back. He isn’t sure who the general is comforting with it, but it works, so that is all that matters. He breaks his silence as the objections on his tongue burn too harshly.

“I don’t care about rumours,” he says. Surely the man knows that, surely he is aware that Jiyan walks around camp and knows nothing of what the soldiers talk about, that he shrugs each and every one of them off like a stray leaf from his hair. He really doesn’t bother with what they have to say about him or the general. The man has implied quite clearly that the whole camp already seems to think that he was letting the man fuck him for rank, how none of them realize that even if he did, the rank would have nothing to do with it is kind of hilarious. Hundreds of people, and none of them can see well enough. 

“I know. I just believe that the magistrate will not share the sentiment, and it is a matter of time before it reaches them,” he says. Geshu Lin sounds like the mere thought of it pains him deeply. He takes a few moments to collect his thoughts before he carries on: ”The military is all you’ve got left, you don’t need them to throw you to the streets like a rat,” anger sparks in his voice and for a short moment his hold around Jiyan tightens before the man forcibly relaxes again.

Realisation dawns on him. Geshu Lin had truly placed Jiyan’s career higher on the priority list than his own heart. Is that why he had laid his hand on him, afraid that Jiyan would object, would argue and pester him until he would give in? Had the man really opted to try to scare him away for mere rumours and a damn threat of discharge? It is light, but he slaps the man on the head. His only answer is a low huff of surprised breath against his neck.

“General, respectfully, you are an idiot,” he growls, before burying his displeasure under a light laugh instead. Trust the man to reach such outrageous conclusions from nothing. Then the realisation dawns. His mother… Had Geshu Lin taken her words to heart, had she been the one who caused him to think like this? Even when it wasn’t she who was being cruel, she still managed to hurt him somehow… Oh well, what is done is done, and all he has left to do is make sure that Geshu Lin knows it isn’t like this. 

“ I would rather have the rumours be true and get discharged than that they are wrong and serve on.” 

Geshu Lin isn’t wrong, he did get his conclusion right. The military is all he has left, but he forgets something of utmost importance: Jiyan has worked and served with only his general in mind for years already. Hell, he had joined because the soldiers spoke so highly of the man while they visited his mother’s clinic in Jinzhou. That man had charmed him away from the job of a medic, tempted him into picking up a blade and raising it against the enemies. Military without Geshu Lin would mean nothing to Jiyan. He might be able to fight recruits, he might be able to spar with Yhan and even Geshu Lin himself, but going against TDs would be a gamble no one is willing to risk, not even the general would see any strategic value in it. His wish to eradicate all of the bastards had been the wind in his sails before harsh golden eyes and sharply barked orders took the place instead. He only has one of those left in his grasp, and he is not letting go of it, no matter what the old geezers in town who have never even seen a TD have to say.

“You’re lying in my bed, demanding that I allow you into my heart, and you still can’t call me by my name,” the man laughs, but there is something hollow about the sound that rubs Jiyan the wrong way. As if the general believes that Jiyan is just another soul that sees his rank, his strength, and only the tool he could be used as instead of the man he truly is. He won’t lie, there are many things he doesn’t know about Geshu Lin, many things he has yet to discover, but he is absolutely certain that even if the man wasn’t a general, even if he held no use for Jinzhou anymore, Jiyan would still love him with all his heart.

“Geshu Lin,” he says, seeming braver than he truly is. The name is foreign on Jiyan’s tongue, the syllables something he has only dared to utter in his thoughts, not counting the few times the name has crossed his lips before. The image the general portrays to the world would have burned anyone daring to forgo his title in favour of his given name into dust before it could escape their lips in full. And Jiyan wasn’t entirely set on being that disrespectful just yet. But a request is a request, and this one he will gladly fulfil over and over if so demanded.

“Again.” 

“Geshu Lin,” he whispers, a gentle smile stretching on his lips. The general’s next demand for “again” is softer, filled to the brim with emotions that Jiyan can’t quite put his finger on. Calling it sadness would be too much, but it allows something deeply buried to bubble up in the man. 

Jiyan indulges him, gaining confidence to say the name aloud every time it passes his lips. The familiar three taps against his skin raise the question in his mind all over again, but before he can ask, Geshu Lin asks for another repeat, and Jiyan postpones his curiosity in favour of whispering that beautiful name out loud once more. Eventually, the general mutters something against Jiyan’s neck, the sound too muffled to be discerned, but it wasn’t the single word he had whispered over and over again, sentinel knows how many times already.

“Yhan thought I should discharge you on the ground of your injuries… Get you out honourably and take you on as a civilian consultant,” he says eventually. 

“That’s a good idea,” Jiyan shrugs. Trust that old fox to come up with a good enough plan to beat into Geshu Lin, good enough to get the general to abandon whatever he had in mind before. Plus, the plan would cause no questions for anyone, perfectly straightforward as it is. No one in the city could say a damn thing even if they wanted to.

Geshu Lin makes a pained sound against Jiyan’s neck, muttering under his nose: ”I don’t want them to think they were right, that you’re useless.” Jiyan laughs, the sound loud in the silent room, but entirely genuine. Even now, the man still worries about what others think, when Jiyan himself just doesn’t care at all.

“Anyone who still thinks that is blinder than me,” he chuckles, “or just plain stupid.”

He takes a breath before continuing: “I pulled off a one-man rescue mission that twenty of them couldn’t. Show me one of them who would dare to say a damn thing.”

Geshu Lin thinks it over for a long while before Jiyan can feel him nod against his neck. He opens his mouth to continue, but halts as the silence is broken by slowing footsteps behind the door. The excited whispering and giggles are loud and clear, even if the words themselves aren’t audible. The general groans, hiding his face deeper into the crook of Jiyan’s neck as the only answer. He almost resembles a kid who pulls the blanket over his head and whines ‘Five more minutes’ in the morning, trying to hide away from the scary parts of reality. It really doesn’t work that well.

“I'm going to outlaw gossiping,” he grumbles. Jiyan bursts out laughing, incapable of reeling in the loud cackles as Geshu Lin swats at him softly. He is sure that whoever is behind the door can hear him, but this is too funny to stop. The man eventually muffles his laughter by pressing his hand over Jiyan’s mouth, whispering a harsh “hush” almost against his face. 

“It is so not funny.”

The only thing it does is make him laugh even harder, curling into the other man unconsciously as he does so. Geshu Lin sighs heavily, holding his silence until everyone behind the door is gone again, Jiyan softly chuckling in his arms, breathless from his laughter. Only then does the general remove his hand. It couldn’t stop Jiyan, but it surely at least muffled the sound a bit. He can feel the man stare at him, and he grins up towards him, hoping that perhaps happiness indeed is contagious. Geshu Lin merely flicks him on the nose and scoffs when Jiyan’s answer is to just poke his tongue out at the man. He falls silent in Jiyan’s embrace, seemingly deep in thought, but it gives him the chance to get his laughter and breathing back under control as well.

“Jiyan,” Geshu Lin whispers once the younger man in his arms joins him in the quietness. The lightness in Jiyan's heart drops like a stone at the man's tone. He seems exhausted, unsure. He hates hearing his name like this, but more than that, he hates hearing Geshu Lin so uncertain. The man is always brimming with confidence, for him to be anything but sure of himself is painful to bear.

“Why me, I'm….I'm not a good man.”

He wasn’t sure that the question would ever be raised. Part of him had expected it, another had been certain that Geshu Lin would not even have the insecurity, or if he did, he would hide it away no matter what. Yet he had said that he hated lying to Jiyan, perhaps it goes for everything, even this.

“Why not?” he shrugs, “Everyone has flaws, I'm not perfect either.”

“You are to me.”

Jiyan can't help the slight squeak that escapes him, can't help the redness that covers his skin with the speed of a wildfire. He buries his face in his hands, sinking deeper into Geshu Lin's arms to hide his embarrassment. The general only laughs at him like the bastard he is. That’s what he gets for finding the man’s previous misery hilarious…

“Don't say that…” he whispers.

“It's the truth,” the general shrugs. Jiyan stays silent, fighting down the stubborn blush staining his skin. Sentinel above, why is he like a young maiden when it comes to Geshu Lin? Three taps, barely touching against him, startle him out of the mess in his mind.

“I…” he starts, before trailing off, muttering under his breath: “Why is this so hard…”

A warm hand caresses his hair, silently encouraging him. He mumbles only: “Look in the mirror.” His voice is weak, and he can feel his skin paint itself red even worse as Geshu Lin bursts out laughing, the sound vibrating through the air. It is followed by a small wince that the man subdues before the worry in Jiyan’s heart flares to life again.  So all he has left to do is merely hide himself deeper into the heated embrace. It feels almost impossible to go any closer with how tightly they are pressed together. Soon, he would be burrowing inside the man’s ribcage instead. It’s comforting to be so close once again, and frankly, Jiyan is glad that Yhan had dragged him here. He really should find a way to thank the older man. For everything.

“I sure hope it isn't my only redeeming quality,” Geshu Lin laughs. The realisation dawns on him with the suddenness of a bucket filled with ice-cold water being dipped over him. How does it sound when a blind man tells you that they love your looks? Joke of the century…

In his defence, it had been true once. Jiyan can still recall the sight of that long white hair flowing in the wind so gently, those golden eyes sparkling with mischief just moments before he did something that would give Jiyan grey hairs. He still remembers with clarity the small scar on his lips stretching with the skin when the man grins, remembers watching the sway of those black ribbons tied into his hair from the many times he had trailed behind the man, utterly lost in thought. Yet Geshu Lin is right, it doesn’t hold water anymore. Soon, he will forget the face altogether, the glorious sight will fade from his mind, and there is nothing Jiyan can do. 

The fierce blush that had started to die down flares anew as Jiyan shakes his head slightly. How is he even supposed to put what he feels into words when he himself doesn't know for sure? He can’t describe what goes on in his heart or mind. He just knows that life without the other sounds like a nightmare he never wishes to live through. The mere thought of giving up that sweet warmth, that teasing voice, those strong arms that keep him together even when everything feels hopeless? He never wants to let go. Yet every word he tries to say feels wrong, none of them feel deep enough. They are flippant and lack everything to describe why he loves the man as much as he does. Eventually, he settles on three words. “Because it's you,” he whispers to the air between them. They are the best out of countless, even though they might not answer the question that has been raised. 

Geshu Lin's breath hitches at the admission, his hold around Jiyan tightens briefly and carefully, he presses his chapped lips against Jiyan's head. Remaining there and just breathing him in.

“You have poor taste in men,” he chuckles eventually.

“You're no better, I mean, really? Me?” 

Geshu Lin slaps him over the head softly, growling against his hair that he is a damn idiot. Jiyan laughs but the question remains, why the fuck would a man of Geshu Lin's calibre even look towards him, not even mentioning everything else. He is just average. Perhaps too whiny or nagging even, and now he is blind on top of it all. There is little he has to offer to the general, and frankly, he just doesn’t understand what the other sees in him. 

“Jiyan,” he whispers finally, cutting through his thoughts of doubt like a heated knife through butter, “There ain’t a damn thing wrong with you.” His fingers trail down his back, his touch light like a feather, yet the shiver that it sparks surely didn’t stay undetected.

“I could list a few,” he offers with a slight smile.

“And you would be sorely mistaken with all of them. I’ve never quite understood what the hell did I do so right in this world to deserve your presence,” Geshu Lin shrugs, his fingers playing with a few strands of teal hair. The storm in Jiyan’s heart, on the other hand, is far from the calm that surrounds them outwardly. He swears the bastard skipped a beat or three at the general’s words. Part of him wonders if the man can hear how loud it beats against his ribs, can he feel it race where their bodies are pressed so close together? Does the knowledge of what he can do to Jiyan with mere words excite him as much? Oh, how badly Jiyan wants to whack his brain with something, perhaps the bastard would stop creating images that will never quite leave him alone, especially in front of the general. There are other things they need to discuss, sex doesn’t quite make that list yet.

“I swear we were talking about you, why are we dissecting me?” he whines low in his throat. The bastard in front of him only laughs over his misfortune, wincing slightly right after. Oh, when will he learn to take care of his damn wounds? Knowing Geshu Lin, probably never, it has always been Jiyan’s job to take care that the man doesn’t bleed out because of a so-dubbed paper cut that is anything but.

“Perhaps, but there are things you need to hear as well.”

“Not all at once…”

“Afraid you’ll overheat from the blush?” the man chuckles, tracing his fingers back upwards, running them over the overly warm skin on the back of his neck, that stubbornly refuses to let go of the redness - actually, that is entirely Geshu Lin’s fault, teasing him over everything, not even giving him a moment of respite. He says so to the man as well.

“Not my fault that you’re so irresistible .” Jiyan doesn’t miss the double meaning of his words even though he truly wishes he had. He needs a break unless he wishes to die of a self-inflicted heatstroke. He can’t actually blame the man endlessly either. 

“You’re incorrigible,” he grumbles under his breath.

“Took you a while to catch up,” Geshu Lin barks with a short laugh, his palm that had so far stayed pressed against the small of Jiyan’s back slowly inching downwards. Jiyan’s eyes widen as those scalding fingers ghost over his ass, his thumb tracing soothing circles against him. He can’t help the small sound that escapes from between his lips as the general’s fingers dig into flesh slightly and pull him closer, hips flush against each other. Jiyan grabs a hold of his wrist, pulling it resolutely upwards again, back onto safe territory even though his mind keeps playing the sensation over and over again, running in circles like a dog chasing its own tail. 

“You are injured and a medbay is no place for that,” he says, trying to hide the tremble in his voice. Sentinel above, that man will kill him. He doesn’t even need to do anything to send Jiyan over the damn bridge like a bullet.

He soon learns that upwards isn’t that much of a safe territory either when it comes to General Geshu Lin. The man’s hand caresses the edge of his tacet mark, sparking the heat that pools inside him aflame as the other one digs fingers into his waist possessively. Jiyan isn’t sure there won’t be small finger-shaped bruises pressed into his skin come tomorrow morning. He would prefer those to the ones still wrapped around his neck.  

“Get better self-control.”

“Impossible.” 

“I’ll leave if you don’t stop teasing me,” Jiyan threatens, but they both know that it is empty. There is no way in hell he could bring himself to leave those arms behind so soon. Geshu Lin might be a bastard, he might be an idiot, but Jiyan is still addicted all the same, the mere thought of letting go and leaving… Hell no.

“How cruel,” the man laughs, but his fingers slip away from his tacet mark, and the palm on his waist slides back into place on the small of his back. It is far too late to effectively extinguish the flame now, so all Jiyan hopes while he carefully wiggles his hips away from the general is that the man doesn’t notice his reaction to the touch. He would never survive the mortification. Somewhere deep down, he knows that he is merely deluding himself, they both know that it has been obvious, that Geshu Lin, for whatever reason, is just opting to stay silent. It allows Jiyan to do damage control within his own mind. He keeps reciting plant properties silently, willing his body to listen to him. It works - somewhat. It really is inevitable that his mind will bring those images it had created up again and again and again - certainly when it is least proper. He really should find an excuse to sleep in his own bed tonight, just so he could fully satisfy that craving inside himself. Perhaps then he will be able to take the damn teasing without feeling like a man starving, without feeling like a single touch would send him careening into the deep end with no escape in sight.

“Jiyan,” the general eventually whispers,” I'm not a good man, you deserve a lot more than what I can give you,” a finger pressed against his lips stops him from protesting even though it is all he wants to do. Geshu Lin can’t just send him away all over again! He won’t allow it! The man continues before he can even do something about the panic in his mind. 

“Yet I still want to be selfish, I want to wake up next to you for as long as you’ll have me.” He pauses for a long moment, searching for the words that seem to escape him. 

“I want to be allowed to love you,” Geshu Lin whispers. The fingers on Jiyan’s back stutter against his skin, thrice as always and this time he refuses to swallow the question down again. He will learn what it means, no matter how many times he has to ask. It is clear that there is something about the number three that speaks to Geshu Lin, that means something to him. All Jiyan has left to do is find out what it is exactly. But first things first.

“I never stopped you, Geshu Lin,” Jiyan smiles slightly.

“You'll give up your entire career just for me? ”

“There was a time where the only thing that still kept me fighting was you, I don't care about the higher-ups or ranks or any of that when I could have you instead,” he says, lifting his head enough to face the general head-on, his resolution clear, “plus, you wouldn't be you if you allowed me to laze around, you will certainly find something that I can do to make myself useful.” Jiyan's laughter is cheerful, loud in the otherwise silent room, until Geshu Lin's joins his.

“You could spend every day in bed, and the only thing I would do is thank you for staying with me.”

“I would go insane,” Jiyan groans. He never wants to spend so much time in bed again. He would get a damn rash from the mere thought of it.

“That broken whiskey glass agrees with you indeed,” Geshu Lin chuckles.

There is a long pause as they just lie next to each other, revelling in the company. Jiyan wonders how to bring it up, how to put this into words. Would Geshu Lin be honest about this, too? Would he tell him if he asked? He’ll never know if he doesn’t at least try .

“Geshu Lin?” he asks, a pleased hum is his answer, encouraging him to continue. With shy fingers, he taps three times against the general’s side, hearing that soft hitch of breath before whatever spell had taken Geshu Lin seems to shatter with his next words.

“What does it mean?”

He can hear the small gulp before the raspy voice whispers:

“I.” tap.

“Love.” Another tap.

“You.” Third tap.

Jiyan’s mind comes to a screeching halt. Every single time that the general had tapped his skin, with his hands, with his blades, long before Jiyan had lost his sight flash before his eyes. The sheer number of times the man has told him those three sweet words without him ever knowing is overwhelming. He can feel the tears threatening to spill. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t cry, and the man still manages to move him to tears without even trying hard.

“Where does it come from?” Jiyan whispers, his voice trembles, and it is obvious to anyone with ears - and eyes, as a matter of fact - that he is a small push away from crumbling. The cheerful atmosphere had disappeared somewhere. Geshu Lin has turned utterly sombre, and Jiyan is still trying to wrap his head around the fact that the man had apparently loved him long before he thought it possible.

“My sister.”

Geshu Lin takes a deep breath as if the topic pains him, and Jiyan realises that he shouldn’t have asked. He wants to backpedal, say that it is fine and he doesn’t need to know, but Geshu Lin merely shushes him, before he can get a word in, carrying on as if Jiyan isn’t looking at him with wide eyes. 

“Her friends kept saying that she was a big girl already, that big girls didn’t say that anymore.”

“She… well, she hated that, she would rant and whine, demand to know why,” he laughs, and the pain in his voice is enough to do Jiyan in. The first tears slip down his cheeks, and the coarse thumb wipes them away as soon as they spill.

“She came up with that, so she could still say it, but no one would question her.” Jiyan can hear the tremble in Geshu Lin’s voice, and when the man hides his face back against his neck, he can feel the wetness against his skin. He squeezes Geshu Lin closer to himself, digging his fingers into the white locks of hair, carding through them to calm him. He doesn’t interrupt, allowing the general to pick his pace.

“It was the last thing she did before she passed in my arms,” he whispers. Jiyan can’t quite help the small wince. He already knew that there is little family that Geshu Lin has left if any at all. The man never takes a break, never sends letters that don’t carry the seal of the general. Jiyan had expected it, but his heart still bleeds at the sheer amount of pain in the man’s voice.

“I’m so sorry, I, I shouldn’t have asked,” he whispers.

“It’s alright, if anyone deserves to know, it's you.”

They stay like that, holding each other close, and when Geshu Lin’s tears subside, Jiyan asks: “Will you tell me about her?”

“I’ve never spoken of her to anyone,” he whispers. He inhales as if he wants to say something else as well, but Jiyan interrupts him.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to, I….I’ve carried her with me like a secret all this time, and,” he inhales sharply, “I want the two most important people in my life to know each other, even if she can’t actually meet you.” 

Jiyan combs his hand through the white locks and whispers against the man’s ear:

“I’ll gladly listen, but it doesn’t have to be now, we have time.”

Geshu Lin nods against him, whispering a soft “Thank you,” but doesn’t otherwise say another word. Jiyan holds him close, rubbing his hands in soothing circles against the man’s back, humming softly. The song is familiar to them both, one that had filled the air between them what feels like ages ago, but had actually been a few weeks instead. Geshu Lin’s trembling voice joins his, and Jiyan smiles slightly, pressing his mouth against the man’s head. Once the song ends, they both fall silent, just basking in the presence of the other. Minutes pass and turn into what might be hours. Neither of them even moves. It's Geshu Lin who eventually breaks the silence.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks softly. Jiyan doesn’t even get to answer before the man carries on: ”Or am I too injured for that too?” Jiyan splutters. He hadn’t expected that to come so out of the blue. Trust Geshu Lin to surprise him whenever physically possible.

“You can.” Before Jiyan can fully finish his sentence, the general’s hand moves to cup his head, tilting his head upwards and kisses him softly. His chapped lips are rough against Jiyan's own, but damn he wouldn't exchange it for anything. It sparks that sweet fire inside him all over again, and when the general moves to pull away, Jiyan chases after his lips with an embarrassingly needy whine. Geshu Lin merely chuckles before surging back in, consuming Jiyan entirely. This one is far from the gentle dance that had graced Jiyan before. The general’s fingers find the back of his neck, caressing the tacet mark there, each stroke teasing and light. Jiyan can't quite help the soft moan that fights its way to freedom. Geshu Lin has never been a man to leave any openings in the defence of his opponents without attention. His tongue takes advantage of Jiyan's parted lips, licking into his mouth like a man starved. He kisses like he fights, an all-consuming wildfire that spreads the sweet heat through the entirety of Jiyan's body. He trails one of his hands up Geshu Lin's torso, finding the target of his revenge easily. He feels the man’s breath hitch when his hand settles over his tacet mark, his fingers wrap around the general’s throat, gently holding him in place, nowhere near even getting close to choking the other, nowhere near hurting him. But the sound that Geshu Lin makes is downright sinful. Jiyan's other hand tangles itself in the long white strands, tugging on it accidentally when teeth sink into his lower lip and pull slightly, before diving back to steal his breath all over again. 

Geshu Lin's hand that had so far been cupping Jiyan's cheek gently lowers back down, joining the other, grabbing hold of his hips. With a surprisingly fluid movement, he twists himself to lie on his back, pulling Jiyan with him, effectively getting the younger man to straddle his lap. An almost breathless moan is all he can manage before his lips are consumed again, the man underneath him straining upwards to reach him. Jiyan presses his hand against his chest, pushing him back down, following him willingly until he is almost lying on the other. He still has enough of a mind to stay off of the man’s ribcage in case it would hurt him.

The hands on his hips grip tighter before pulling him downwards until he is all but pressed to the man. The hardness against him tears a whine from his throat that Geshu Lin smothers with his mouth. It's so easy to lose himself to the temptation, to just succumb to the man. There is a part of him that keeps ringing the alarm bells, but the sheer want that seems to consume him fully silences that version of him almost as soon as he loses himself to yet another kiss.

When Geshu Lin’s hips rock up into him, Jiyan pulls his mouth away, gasping for breath that had been stolen from him. Yet it does nothing to stop Geshu Lin in his tracks. He merely changes direction, devouring him still, his hot lips trailing wet kisses down Jiyan’s neck. He whispers “I’m sorry” against the bruises there before he kisses them over, biting each shape of a finger, sinking his teeth into the skin instead, sucking on it softly until all Jiyan can manage are incoherent gasps. There will be hickeys, of that he is certain, bruises of pleasure covering the ones of pain underneath them.  

He briefly tries to wiggle himself free from the hold on his lower body that the man has, and can't quite help the slight whine that escapes him as he discovers that the general’s hold effectively renders him immobile. He tries to tame that wildfire that deprives him of all oxygen and sense with light pressure on the man's neck. Anything to be allowed to think straight for a single moment. It has the exact opposite effect. Geshu Lin's lips indeed leave his neck alone where his teeth had grazed against Jiyan's sensitive skin, but at the same time, the slight arch of his back that presses the hardness against him even more and the choked moan that escapes Geshu Lin do unspeakable things to Jiyan. Sentinel above, he will never be able to go back now. He doesn't want to stop, but this is not a good idea, no matter the angle he looks at it from. How could a single man tear down every single sane thought in his mind with a mere kiss? How easy it is for Geshu Lin to burn away his morals with just the brush of his lips against Jiyan’s skin.

“Enough,” he whispers, his voice shaky, and he swears there is a tremble in his legs. Geshu Lin's hands loosen their grasp, not holding him down anymore but barely resting against him.

“Something wrong?” Fuck. His voice is huskier than Jiyan has ever heard it before, and the things that does to him is something he is most definitely not proud of. ‘Not a good man my ass.’

“You're injured - still - and honestly, them discussing our sex life without knowing anything is bad enough, no need to give them even more ammunition,” he grumbles. Who knows if anyone has already heard them… He would never survive it should anyone dare to ask him about it! Can you imagine someone just walking up to him and asking what Geshu Lin is like as a lover, he would die of mortification then and there!

“I recall you saying you don't care about rumours,” Geshu Lin laughs, Jiyan merely sits up, crossing his arms over his chest and giving the man the most disappointed glare he can manage. It doesn’t look threatening. His lips are bitten red, still slick with spit. His hair is a mess, and the redness of his cheeks leaves him looking like sin itself. It doesn’t help anyone that his neck is littered with clear teeth marks and bruises. The general pulls him back down, flush with his chest, crushing him into a bear hug before Jiyan can even attempt to spare the man’s injuries. He can’t quite nag either before Geshu Lin turns both of them back to their sides. Jiyan fights to get his damn leg loose from underneath Geshu Lin all the while the man finds his predicament absolutely hilarious. Jiyan is not interested in numb limbs, thank you very much. He leaves the other thrown over the man's hip, though, in his defence, it is more comfortable than the rest of the options, even if a medic has a heart attack as a result. Help wouldn’t be far after all. Jiyan sinks back into the comfort. Oh, he most definitely could live the rest of his life between Geshu Lin’s arms. Nothing else matters. No careers or ranks or even his mother's opinions have enough room to wiggle into his frankly blissed-out mind.

Geshu Lin’s gentle fingers caress his cheek, his thumb rubbing against the corner of his mouth. Jiyan can feel his damn eyes boring holes into him. Yet the general keeps wordlessly staring at him, not saying anything, just touching. As if he couldn’t believe the sight in front of him.

“Take a picture, it will last longer,” he mutters eventually. The startled laugh that escapes the general is well worth it all. 

“Now, why would I do that? I can’t kiss a picture,” he says, pressing his lips lightly against Jiyan’s.

“You’re impossible,” he mutters, still against Geshu Lin’s mouth. He doesn’t even try to hide the smile that pulls on the corners of his lips. 

“You love me anyways.”

“That I do,” he sighs. He did sign up for this himself after all, now he will just have to bear the consequences, even if there is no moon under which he would choose anyone but General Geshu Lin. He curls up against the man, the deep exhaustion that he hasn’t quite managed to sleep away just yet settling into his bones, threatening to pull him into sleep’s embrace. It doesn’t help that Geshu Lin makes a damn good heater and an even better pillow. He is halfway off to dreamland already when the general calls his name. Groggily, he raises his head again to stare at the man, the confusion in his eyes clear.

“Yesterday morning…” he starts, sounding so painfully unsure of himself, “I never want to see you like that again.”

“Like what?” he echoes.

Geshu Lin’s thumb caresses across his cheekbone. “Eyes red from crying, dark circles underneath them,” he takes a small breath, “shoulders slouched.” He trails his hand down from Jiyan’s face over his shoulder.

“Promise me, if I ever hurt you like that again...” Jiyan presses a finger against his lips, halting the words before they can be spoken.

“You won’t.”

“You’re placing too much trust in me, I…”

“I trust you, just don’t prove me wrong,” he says with a soft smile. “I’ll be forced to get Yhan involved if you do, he’ll keep you in line,” he chuckles softly, patting Geshu Lin against the cheek gently. The general seems to accept that as an answer, and he can feel his cheek move as his lips pull into a slight smile.

“I love you,” Geshu Lin whispers, for once not stumbling over the word that he has rarely uttered aloud. Each one of those is echoed with a soft tap against his waist.

“And I love you,” he echoes back, three taps pressed into Geshu Lin’s skin in answer.