she knows he's vanished around the cabin's corner - but from there, where might he go? ...is it kinder to leave him be, when he is so clearly desperate to get away, or is it crueler to leave him to suffer on his own?
because there's no way he isn't suffering. none.
flayn's eyes burn with tears. yin yu deserves better than his own fear and self-loathing and guilt. he deserves better than his self-imposed isolation. he deserves better than to be constantly overlooked, to be unseen. he deserves so much better--
her feet are moving before she's aware of it. there's no decision to make here - her only option is to find him, so that he isn't alone. somehow, she has to prove to him that he doesn't have to run. not from here.
never from her.
she rounds the corner of the cabin -
and to her shock, there he is.
...
if she speaks, will he leave? if she sits beside him, will he let her stay? her steps are light and careful, near-silent, but she hasn't mastered the art of not making a sound when she walks, and there's the soft crunch of dirt underfoot as she approaches him.
she sinks down into a crouch, just in front of him, and reaches out a hand.]
...please, do not go.
[her voice is as gentle as she can make it - she's terrified, if she speaks too firmly or too harshly, that he'll flee from her again.
she doesn't know if she can bear to watch him leave her twice.]
[ no matter where he runs in this godforsaken camp, it's not going to be enough. at first, being away from the disaster at home had been such a small mercy, but now, yin yu finds himself almost desperately wishing chengzhu would appear. he would do anything for a silver butterfly to fly across his vision with an order or a job to do. to go back to being no one, because that's who yin yu really is. a banished god with blood on his hands, in the service of a ghostly king, a mask instead of a person. it was what he deserved, and years from the incident with yizhen, he had finally found a purpose again because of it. things like loneliness didn't bother him, not really, because he didn't deserve the company of other people. being unnoticeable when once he'd been something now just meant he was able to come and go as he pleased for chengzhu's sake.
why would he want to be 'yin yu', anyway? his highness yin yu, former failed god of the west, disgraced, practicer of something dark and evil, petty and jealous of his shidi who was better than him instead of gracious? what kind of a person was that? someone who should be as lost to the sands of time as he has been.
what was there to see, about him? any kindness people had perceived wasn't -- that wasn't who he really was. up until now, he'd been able to keep that secret. with chengzhu, he hadn't had to worry, because chengzhu already knew, but here at camp...
here at camp, people like flayn believe in him, and they shouldn't.
the crunch of dirt catches his attention. with his head swimming full of static and dark, dark thoughts, fingers knotted tight in his hair, yin yu barely hears it. the minute someone is close, he tenses even more, frozen to the spot, breathing in harsh, shallow pants - for a brief, hysterical moment, he wonders if it's someone coming to murder him, too, that might be nice, some god damned penance for a crime he's never stopped repenting for -
but it's flayn. her voice is soft and gentle, familiar. he's heard it in a million conversations now, and his stomach lurches when she speaks, the negative emotions piling heavier and heavier onto his shoulders. yin yu doesn't know why she followed him, he doesn't know how she keeps finding him even when he doesn't want to be found, and all he's done is prove himself as the opposite of what she said. maybe she's come to say so. maybe she'll forget.
to be caught between wanting that more than anything, and being utterly terrified at the thought, is just another emotional whirlwind to be stuck in.
yin yu takes in a shaky breath. he wants to say something--what would he even say, and he can't, looking down at his knees, unable to look up to meet her gaze. he'd taken his mask off to try and comfort flayn, before, and right now, he wants it, wants to pull it over his face and hide and melt into the background, but he can't.
he shakes his head. that's all he's got, his fingers still knotted tight in his hair. yin yu can't look at her. he shouldn't. if he keeps looking down, maybe she'll forget he's even there.
...but flayn can't say that this is an improvement, either. he won't raise his head, he can't seem to look at her, and it's so obvious that he's trembling that her heart aches to see it. what can she do for him?
is there anything she can do for him?
seeing him like this hurts. knowing that he's carried this pain all this time, without anyone the wiser, cuts like a knife. but to shoulder such a burden alone must be even more painful, and she's sure that her brief foray into his memories has only given a glimpse of the agony that he's been living with all this time.]
...will it hurt you, if I stay?
[she doesn't want to go.
more than anything, she doesn't want to leave him - but she doesn't want to hurt him, either.
[ of all the things he's expecting to hear out of flayn's mouth, "will it hurt you if i stay" is not even close. i thought you were different, maybe. or you lied to me. or even, stay away from me.
his head snaps up, just to look at her properly. yin yu's not a particularly emotional person (or, maybe he is, at least underneath everything), but right now, every emotion he's feeling is displayed on his face. anguish, pain, self-deprecation, the edge of it so sharp it could cut, but in that moment, there's surprise.
that vulnerable, startled look turns into a wet, humorless laugh, startled out of him. it's so, so bitter, weighed down with centuries of this heavy guilt, and his grip only loosens just a little when he asks it. ] ...Why would you?
[ it's an actual, genuine question, because he cannot even fathom why flayn would want to be near him right now. or ever again. actually, ever again makes more sense. the memories shared between them made the distance stark enough -- flayn giving her all in the battlefield only to fall saving others, and yin yu's failings, and the cruel order that almost cost his shidi his life. ]
...he feels the need to ask why. flayn starts to answer, because to her, it's so obvious - they're friends. friends listen when the other is suffering, and try to help shoulder their burdens-- they don't just cut them out because of a mistake that they clearly regret, have carried so much guilt over--
but if he has to ask, then...
tears form in the corners of her eyes, but she doesn't blink. she doesn't let them spill over. he doesn't need to deal with her tears on top of his own pain, so she looks down, her hands clenching into fists.]
I care about you.
[her voice comes out a little raw.]
Why would I not stay—?
[does he think that little of her...?
...
no. more likely, he thinks that little of himself.]
That-- that, what you just saw, that's who I really am. I was banished from the Heavens. Jian Yu became a resentful spirit and had to be put down.
[ he says it with a little more dullness, that time, looking down at his knees, that bitter thread tangled in every word out of his mouth. there's a part of him that wants to take what flayn said and hold it close to his chest, but he doesn't deserve that. all this time, flayn has thought he was someone else, and so, the defeated hopelessness that has hung over his head since jun wu laid down his punishment returns.
(flayn thought he was someone, a traitor of a voice in the back of his head likes to remind him.)
slowly, his hands drop out of his dark hair, finally loosing, only to curl in his lap, instead, tight enough that his nails leave white crescents in his skin. from this angle, it's easier to see the black mark around his wrist, and yin yu can't look at that, either. it's a reminder, every time he looks at his bare skin, that he was never enough, and never was going to be enough, in the first place.
he didn't care. yin yu told himself he didn't care. but how can you not, when the world you've worked your whole life for starts to crumble in your fingers--and the person who causes it doesn't even notice the pain they've caused you? yin yu didn't make it easy for yizhen; it felt so obvious and world ending to him that he never said a thing, let it simmer until it exploded in his face.
i'm sorry wants to come out. i lied to you.
he can't say it, though, just exhaling shakily, instead. ]
[banished from the Heavens. yes, he was. she can't deny that.
but—]
Your Taizi Dianxia was banished from the Heavens as well, was he not? More than once, as I recall. [and it did not seem as though yin yu had harbored anything short of admiration for him. granted, the circumstances were different. but still.] And I believe your Hua Chengzhu spent some time as a resentful spirit.
[this is probably not why he told her that story. and maybe she doesn't know enough of them to be able to compare it, but - she doesn't want to let yin yu just blame himself for all of this. it may not be possible to stop him from doing so. maybe he feels like he needs to be punished for the part he played in what happened.
but he's much more effective at punishing himself than he needs to be.]
I saw what you saw. I felt what you felt. And that is how I know... you were frustrated and you were upset, but you never meant for that to happen.
You regret it. Deeply. You have never stopped punishing yourself for it.
[her voice breaks.]
But you should not have to suffer like this. Not... not like this.
[ that little voice of doubt always has something to say. yin yu has been telling himself that for years, too--that he never meant for it to happen.
but what if he did? that had to come from somewhere. he'd been so relieved when he finally got yizhen to stop, and then, seeing him and the destroyed palace all at once...
"go die." he knew exactly what that order was going to do, and he said it anyway. he cracked under the force of the pressure and gave in. that's the question of the affair that keeps him up at night. what if i meant it?
adding the whims of the island onto it had been brutal. at least there, he'd had the excuse that he was compelled, but there was no excuse for the things he'd done in the heavenly capital that day. yin yu had just seen yizhen for the first time since not minutes before he woke up in the ocean there, and he'd felt panicked for the same reason, wanting to run from a resentment he felt like he still had deep buried in his bones. because if yizhen was out of sight, then maybe, he could finally be out of mind. because the idiot was still so excited to see him, because he hadn't changed a bit, and he'd wanted to lash out then, too.
(but he didn't. he had his chance to take quan yizhen's head off, and yin yu had rescued him, instead.)
but flayn isn't wrong. he knows he's never stopped punishing himself; he probably never will. every mistake he'd made led to that point, and adding watching his entire life fall apart to it too had left him with a furious, guilty tangle of emotions that he's never once tried to pull apart.
i felt what you felt sticks with him, too, and involuntarily, he flinches. ] ...I'm sorry. [ he says, quietly, genuinely, for that, because it feels like all he can do.
he's not just sorry for that. he's sorry for the way her voice cracks, for how upset she sounds. he's sorry that she had to see his sad existence as a person. that she had to find out this way. that she wasted her time with him.
unlike flayn, yin yu never would have told her about this, if he had the choice. he would have taken this to his grave, whenever it came to him, and now it's out in the open. whatever self inflicted suffering he had was only the kind that he deserved. taizia dianxia's banishment came from helping humans; hua chengzhu's spirit used that resentment to save someone's existence. he and jian yu are like paper copies, and jian yu is so long dead, the comparison is a non-starter.
yin yu has never felt so vulnerable in his entire life, so unbelievably exposed, laid bare for the worst parts of him without his permission. he wants to shrink into himself, dig a hole in the ground with the earth master's shovel and never come back out.
he shakes his head again, though it's less panicked now, and more just...resigned. yin yu looks so tired. the sparkle of that bright eyed god feels like a scattered dream, compared to the person who sits here before her. ] ...it was a long time ago. [ he adds, finally. soft, far away, and full of sorrow. ]
...you do not have to tell me if you do not wish to.
[it's an echo of what he'd said to her at the beginning of this. after her own memory, before his secrets were laid bare. he's always been so respectful of her boundaries, but has continued to be there for her, even when she's sure there are questions he must want to ask. ...there are questions she wants to ask him too, but--
mostly, she just wants him to be okay. as long as that happens, as long as he doesn't have to go around with this horrible look on his face, then she can deal with the not knowing.
she holds her hands out to him, though part of her doesn't expect him to take them. still - even so - she'll always continue to reach out to him, in the chance that someday he might reach back.]
...but if you ever do wish to... I will listen.
[nothing he could tell her would scare her away.]
We are friends. [...her voice sounds almost like she's pleading with him - friends, so don't push me away. is that selfish? wouldn't it be better to let him get comfortable again, before she pushes it? but she doesn't want him to be alone with these memories so close at hand, either.] What I saw does not change that.
...I want to be here for you, Yin Yu, if you will allow me to be.
...there's nothing else to tell. [ it takes him a little while to respond, staring down at his shaking hands and trying to will it to stop. even if he tries to ignore what just happened - and gods, will he try - it's still there, now. the memories of yin yu's past have always been his shadow, chomping at his ankles in moments of silence, there to remind him the minute he stops, the minute something happens that's close to good.
yin yu's telling the truth, though. there are other parts of that story that that horrible memory didn't share, but none of them really matter. it's just a long pile of embarrassment and failure, event after event of yizhen's ascension and yin yu's downfall. whatever in the camp was making this happen found the most painful parts like an assassin and dragged them out into the light.
slowly, his own coping mechanisms kick back into place. he's calmer again, breath settled, but knowing has to bring into focus so many things about him. the way he runs, the way he hides. the way he seems to exist like a shade of gray in a world full of bright colors. the ever present sadness in his eyes, like the light in him had just been snuffed out.
no kindness, no goodness: no optimism, no hope. all of those things died when he commanded quan yizhen to end his life, too.
as he starts to raise his head properly, he sees flayn's hands enter his line of vision, and right as he's starting to get control of it, flayn knocks him for a loop again. we are friends, i want to be here for you. he stares at her palms for a minute, now familiar, and exhales softly, giving a small duck of his head, the gesture more familiar. ]
...that's very kind of you, Lady Flayn.
[ he knows that flayn is a good person--a good, bright, wonderful person--and saying things like this are just a part of her.
but it's an inevitability: he knows she's going to forget, too. it might not be today. it might not be tomorrow, but he's already shown his cards, and a person like him doesn't deserve to be remembered. eventually, he will fade away, as he always does, replaced by something better and brighter. there are layers to "you are a kind person", unsaid words. i'm not.i wish i was.i want what you said to be true. it's okay, that it's not.
is it selfish to want to hold onto it a little longer?
it's easier to pretend that it's fine. he pushes the feelings that came from that down, down, away from himself, shoves them into a dark corner to be left, so only he's the one who has to deal with them. he will not be selfish. not now. not again. he will be no one. a helpful presence, a quiet worker, someone who keeps his head down. a not quite human working in the ghost city, just as much of a ghost as the spirits who inhabit it. yin yu will not be someone, because the 'someone' that he was was a house of cards blown over in the breeze.
yin yu does not know peace, but he will pretend that he does. he will pretend that it doesn't matter, that his secrets are invisible. with a last breath, in and out, yin yu closes the door on those emotions with finality. what he thinks, what happened to him - in the grand scheme of things, it's not worth considering. he is not worth considering.
he only opens his hands because he doesn't want flayn to worry, and lets his fingers touch hers, briefly, eyes still cast downwards. he doesn't deserve her kindness, but she shouldn't have to make that face because of him. ]
what good is being kind, if she can't help - really help - someone she cares about when he so clearly needs it? bottling up how he's feeling isn't a solution, either. taking each of his hurts and keeping them so close to himself can only hurt him more.
but if he doesn't want to talk about it...
his fingers touch hers, and without thinking, she shifts her hands to catch his, to lace their fingers together. it doesn't comfort her much, and perhaps it doesn't comfort him, either; perhaps he's simply given up on trying to outrun her, and is going to allow her to do as she pleases, regardless of whether it does him any good at all.
she ducks his head, as he does, so that he cannot see the look on her face, either. he's the one suffering, here. he's the one convinced of his own guilt and shame and worthlessness, so why is she the one crying? these tears ought to be his. he ought to be able to let them out and set the guilt free.
but he won't.
so she cries, and maybe it's a foolish thought to think that these are the tears he won't allow himself to shed.]
yin yu would have to be an idiot not to notice. his heart seizes up and drops into his stomach, a boulder somewhere between worry and guilt all at once. he's seen flayn cry once before, and panicked over it then, as much as he is now -- except now it's worse, because he's the one who caused it.
he's at a loss for what to do, for the moment. hands against hers, fingers laced together, he doesn't peek under where her head is down, doesn't surge forward, but -- he doesn't let go, either. and, after a long moment of what's only awkward and uncomfortable and (useless, he's so bad at this, he is so bad) -- his hands slowly squeeze hers. ]
Lady Flayn. [ he says, quietly, squeezing a little tighter, his voice heavy with emotion--yin yu's heart hurts. it hurts for flayn, more than it could ever even begin to hurt for himself. being able to shut off his emotions is his lifeline in the worst of times and the best, and he has never wanted to trouble anyone with his own sad story. to think that not only she saw it, but it upset her, is...
there's a part of him that wants to move forward to do...something, but he can't find the courage, nor does he think he deserves to do so. he knows he shouldn't stare, either, feeling more useless than ever, still teetering on the edge of what had been a fairly disastrous mental breakdown and pulling himself back from the edge. so, he doesn't act in such a way: instead, yin yu frees one of his hands, but just for long enough to find the edge of one of his pouches and pull it open. there's a few scraps of cloth instead, and they're the tie-dyed remains of the sleeves of his camp shirt, but it's as good of a handkerchief as any. ] ...please don't cry.
[ and he means it, sincerely, the concern for her bleeding through above anything else, as he moves to gently press it to the palm of her hand. there's nothing about his story that is worth her tears. ]
[she didn't want him to see. she squeezes his hands in return, though, until he loosens his hold on one of them and presses a scrap of cloth into it instead. her fingers curl around it, and though she keeps one of her hands in his, she brings the makeshift handkerchief up in an attempt to dry her eyes.
he's the one left reeling from that memory - how can he be comforting her now? she's always relying on him, and it feels like she's never able to be someone that he can truly rely on in return.
(if he felt he could rely on her, he wouldn't have run. it's not a fair thought, but it's a thought she can't shake.)]
...you don't have to apologize. [ yin yu mumbles, feeling -- unsure. he's felt this way around flayn more than once, but it's been a long time since it's been quite like this. he shouldn't be here, not when he's made her so upset, not when he's finally showed his true colors.
he can't leave her here crying, though. even if he still wants to run, he stays, letting her hold his hand, because flayn's assessment was correct. yin yu has given up on many things. right now, he's given up on trying to get away, shoving his feelings down to not be dealt with later. he'll let flayn do whatever she wants, if it helps, try to say anything to get her to stop crying, to make her feel better, but, ultimately, it will do nothing for him.
it's been hundreds of years since the incident with yizhen. there is no undoing centuries of self loathing, centuries of guilt. this will be it--he will comfort, and tomorrow, he will try to stay out of her way.
quietly, he lets his other hand drop away, and doesn't say anything else.
yin yu doesn't deserve to be anywhere close to someone like flayn. he's thought it since he got to know her.
the only difference is now, finally, she'll know it too. ]
flayn doesn't realize, yet, just how much it's going to suck. right now, the one hand that yin yu is allowing her to keep holding is a lifeline - she's able to start to calm herself, to wipe the tears away from her eyes, but only because he hasn't fully pulled away.
when that happens...
for now, though, she'll allow herself these few moments with his hand in hers, desperately trying to come up with something to comfort him. she comes up with nothing, except to try and stay near him, but.
that seems like it's more of a comfort to her than to him.
she doesn't know what to do. she just has no idea what to do, so she sits there with him, holding tightly to his hand.]
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fishingforcompliments) wrote2020-06-06 12:53 pm
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she knows he's vanished around the cabin's corner - but from there, where might he go? ...is it kinder to leave him be, when he is so clearly desperate to get away, or is it crueler to leave him to suffer on his own?
because there's no way he isn't suffering. none.
flayn's eyes burn with tears. yin yu deserves better than his own fear and self-loathing and guilt. he deserves better than his self-imposed isolation. he deserves better than to be constantly overlooked, to be unseen. he deserves so much better--
her feet are moving before she's aware of it. there's no decision to make here - her only option is to find him, so that he isn't alone. somehow, she has to prove to him that he doesn't have to run. not from here.
never from her.
she rounds the corner of the cabin -
and to her shock, there he is.
...
if she speaks, will he leave? if she sits beside him, will he let her stay? her steps are light and careful, near-silent, but she hasn't mastered the art of not making a sound when she walks, and there's the soft crunch of dirt underfoot as she approaches him.
she sinks down into a crouch, just in front of him, and reaches out a hand.]
...please, do not go.
[her voice is as gentle as she can make it - she's terrified, if she speaks too firmly or too harshly, that he'll flee from her again.
she doesn't know if she can bear to watch him leave her twice.]
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why would he want to be 'yin yu', anyway? his highness yin yu, former failed god of the west, disgraced, practicer of something dark and evil, petty and jealous of his shidi who was better than him instead of gracious? what kind of a person was that? someone who should be as lost to the sands of time as he has been.
what was there to see, about him? any kindness people had perceived wasn't -- that wasn't who he really was. up until now, he'd been able to keep that secret. with chengzhu, he hadn't had to worry, because chengzhu already knew, but here at camp...
here at camp, people like flayn believe in him, and they shouldn't.
the crunch of dirt catches his attention. with his head swimming full of static and dark, dark thoughts, fingers knotted tight in his hair, yin yu barely hears it. the minute someone is close, he tenses even more, frozen to the spot, breathing in harsh, shallow pants - for a brief, hysterical moment, he wonders if it's someone coming to murder him, too, that might be nice, some god damned penance for a crime he's never stopped repenting for -
but it's flayn. her voice is soft and gentle, familiar. he's heard it in a million conversations now, and his stomach lurches when she speaks, the negative emotions piling heavier and heavier onto his shoulders. yin yu doesn't know why she followed him, he doesn't know how she keeps finding him even when he doesn't want to be found, and all he's done is prove himself as the opposite of what she said. maybe she's come to say so. maybe she'll forget.
to be caught between wanting that more than anything, and being utterly terrified at the thought, is just another emotional whirlwind to be stuck in.
yin yu takes in a shaky breath. he wants to say something--what would he even say, and he can't, looking down at his knees, unable to look up to meet her gaze. he'd taken his mask off to try and comfort flayn, before, and right now, he wants it, wants to pull it over his face and hide and melt into the background, but he can't.
he shakes his head. that's all he's got, his fingers still knotted tight in his hair. yin yu can't look at her. he shouldn't. if he keeps looking down, maybe she'll forget he's even there.
from this distance, it's clear: he's trembling. ]
no subject
...but flayn can't say that this is an improvement, either. he won't raise his head, he can't seem to look at her, and it's so obvious that he's trembling that her heart aches to see it. what can she do for him?
is there anything she can do for him?
seeing him like this hurts. knowing that he's carried this pain all this time, without anyone the wiser, cuts like a knife. but to shoulder such a burden alone must be even more painful, and she's sure that her brief foray into his memories has only given a glimpse of the agony that he's been living with all this time.]
...will it hurt you, if I stay?
[she doesn't want to go.
more than anything, she doesn't want to leave him - but she doesn't want to hurt him, either.
isn't he hurting enough?]
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his head snaps up, just to look at her properly. yin yu's not a particularly emotional person (or, maybe he is, at least underneath everything), but right now, every emotion he's feeling is displayed on his face. anguish, pain, self-deprecation, the edge of it so sharp it could cut, but in that moment, there's surprise.
that vulnerable, startled look turns into a wet, humorless laugh, startled out of him. it's so, so bitter, weighed down with centuries of this heavy guilt, and his grip only loosens just a little when he asks it. ] ...Why would you?
[ it's an actual, genuine question, because he cannot even fathom why flayn would want to be near him right now. or ever again. actually, ever again makes more sense. the memories shared between them made the distance stark enough -- flayn giving her all in the battlefield only to fall saving others, and yin yu's failings, and the cruel order that almost cost his shidi his life. ]
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...he feels the need to ask why. flayn starts to answer, because to her, it's so obvious - they're friends. friends listen when the other is suffering, and try to help shoulder their burdens-- they don't just cut them out because of a mistake that they clearly regret, have carried so much guilt over--
but if he has to ask, then...
tears form in the corners of her eyes, but she doesn't blink. she doesn't let them spill over. he doesn't need to deal with her tears on top of his own pain, so she looks down, her hands clenching into fists.]
I care about you.
[her voice comes out a little raw.]
Why would I not stay—?
[does he think that little of her...?
...
no. more likely, he thinks that little of himself.]
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[ he says it with a little more dullness, that time, looking down at his knees, that bitter thread tangled in every word out of his mouth. there's a part of him that wants to take what flayn said and hold it close to his chest, but he doesn't deserve that. all this time, flayn has thought he was someone else, and so, the defeated hopelessness that has hung over his head since jun wu laid down his punishment returns.
(flayn thought he was someone, a traitor of a voice in the back of his head likes to remind him.)
slowly, his hands drop out of his dark hair, finally loosing, only to curl in his lap, instead, tight enough that his nails leave white crescents in his skin. from this angle, it's easier to see the black mark around his wrist, and yin yu can't look at that, either. it's a reminder, every time he looks at his bare skin, that he was never enough, and never was going to be enough, in the first place.
he didn't care. yin yu told himself he didn't care. but how can you not, when the world you've worked your whole life for starts to crumble in your fingers--and the person who causes it doesn't even notice the pain they've caused you? yin yu didn't make it easy for yizhen; it felt so obvious and world ending to him that he never said a thing, let it simmer until it exploded in his face.
i'm sorry wants to come out. i lied to you.
he can't say it, though, just exhaling shakily, instead. ]
no subject
[banished from the Heavens. yes, he was. she can't deny that.
but—]
Your Taizi Dianxia was banished from the Heavens as well, was he not? More than once, as I recall. [and it did not seem as though yin yu had harbored anything short of admiration for him. granted, the circumstances were different. but still.] And I believe your Hua Chengzhu spent some time as a resentful spirit.
[this is probably not why he told her that story. and maybe she doesn't know enough of them to be able to compare it, but - she doesn't want to let yin yu just blame himself for all of this. it may not be possible to stop him from doing so. maybe he feels like he needs to be punished for the part he played in what happened.
but he's much more effective at punishing himself than he needs to be.]
I saw what you saw. I felt what you felt. And that is how I know... you were frustrated and you were upset, but you never meant for that to happen.
You regret it. Deeply. You have never stopped punishing yourself for it.
[her voice breaks.]
But you should not have to suffer like this. Not... not like this.
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but what if he did? that had to come from somewhere. he'd been so relieved when he finally got yizhen to stop, and then, seeing him and the destroyed palace all at once...
"go die." he knew exactly what that order was going to do, and he said it anyway. he cracked under the force of the pressure and gave in. that's the question of the affair that keeps him up at night. what if i meant it?
adding the whims of the island onto it had been brutal. at least there, he'd had the excuse that he was compelled, but there was no excuse for the things he'd done in the heavenly capital that day. yin yu had just seen yizhen for the first time since not minutes before he woke up in the ocean there, and he'd felt panicked for the same reason, wanting to run from a resentment he felt like he still had deep buried in his bones. because if yizhen was out of sight, then maybe, he could finally be out of mind. because the idiot was still so excited to see him, because he hadn't changed a bit, and he'd wanted to lash out then, too.
(but he didn't. he had his chance to take quan yizhen's head off, and yin yu had rescued him, instead.)
but flayn isn't wrong. he knows he's never stopped punishing himself; he probably never will. every mistake he'd made led to that point, and adding watching his entire life fall apart to it too had left him with a furious, guilty tangle of emotions that he's never once tried to pull apart.
i felt what you felt sticks with him, too, and involuntarily, he flinches. ] ...I'm sorry. [ he says, quietly, genuinely, for that, because it feels like all he can do.
he's not just sorry for that. he's sorry for the way her voice cracks, for how upset she sounds. he's sorry that she had to see his sad existence as a person. that she had to find out this way. that she wasted her time with him.
unlike flayn, yin yu never would have told her about this, if he had the choice. he would have taken this to his grave, whenever it came to him, and now it's out in the open. whatever self inflicted suffering he had was only the kind that he deserved. taizia dianxia's banishment came from helping humans; hua chengzhu's spirit used that resentment to save someone's existence. he and jian yu are like paper copies, and jian yu is so long dead, the comparison is a non-starter.
yin yu has never felt so vulnerable in his entire life, so unbelievably exposed, laid bare for the worst parts of him without his permission. he wants to shrink into himself, dig a hole in the ground with the earth master's shovel and never come back out.
he shakes his head again, though it's less panicked now, and more just...resigned. yin yu looks so tired. the sparkle of that bright eyed god feels like a scattered dream, compared to the person who sits here before her. ] ...it was a long time ago. [ he adds, finally. soft, far away, and full of sorrow. ]
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[it's an echo of what he'd said to her at the beginning of this. after her own memory, before his secrets were laid bare. he's always been so respectful of her boundaries, but has continued to be there for her, even when she's sure there are questions he must want to ask. ...there are questions she wants to ask him too, but--
mostly, she just wants him to be okay. as long as that happens, as long as he doesn't have to go around with this horrible look on his face, then she can deal with the not knowing.
she holds her hands out to him, though part of her doesn't expect him to take them. still - even so - she'll always continue to reach out to him, in the chance that someday he might reach back.]
...but if you ever do wish to... I will listen.
[nothing he could tell her would scare her away.]
We are friends. [...her voice sounds almost like she's pleading with him - friends, so don't push me away. is that selfish? wouldn't it be better to let him get comfortable again, before she pushes it? but she doesn't want him to be alone with these memories so close at hand, either.] What I saw does not change that.
...I want to be here for you, Yin Yu, if you will allow me to be.
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yin yu's telling the truth, though. there are other parts of that story that that horrible memory didn't share, but none of them really matter. it's just a long pile of embarrassment and failure, event after event of yizhen's ascension and yin yu's downfall. whatever in the camp was making this happen found the most painful parts like an assassin and dragged them out into the light.
slowly, his own coping mechanisms kick back into place. he's calmer again, breath settled, but knowing has to bring into focus so many things about him. the way he runs, the way he hides. the way he seems to exist like a shade of gray in a world full of bright colors. the ever present sadness in his eyes, like the light in him had just been snuffed out.
no kindness, no goodness: no optimism, no hope. all of those things died when he commanded quan yizhen to end his life, too.
as he starts to raise his head properly, he sees flayn's hands enter his line of vision, and right as he's starting to get control of it, flayn knocks him for a loop again. we are friends, i want to be here for you. he stares at her palms for a minute, now familiar, and exhales softly, giving a small duck of his head, the gesture more familiar. ]
...that's very kind of you, Lady Flayn.
[ he knows that flayn is a good person--a good, bright, wonderful person--and saying things like this are just a part of her.
but it's an inevitability: he knows she's going to forget, too. it might not be today. it might not be tomorrow, but he's already shown his cards, and a person like him doesn't deserve to be remembered. eventually, he will fade away, as he always does, replaced by something better and brighter. there are layers to "you are a kind person", unsaid words. i'm not. i wish i was. i want what you said to be true. it's okay, that it's not.
is it selfish to want to hold onto it a little longer?
it's easier to pretend that it's fine. he pushes the feelings that came from that down, down, away from himself, shoves them into a dark corner to be left, so only he's the one who has to deal with them. he will not be selfish. not now. not again. he will be no one. a helpful presence, a quiet worker, someone who keeps his head down. a not quite human working in the ghost city, just as much of a ghost as the spirits who inhabit it. yin yu will not be someone, because the 'someone' that he was was a house of cards blown over in the breeze.
yin yu does not know peace, but he will pretend that he does. he will pretend that it doesn't matter, that his secrets are invisible. with a last breath, in and out, yin yu closes the door on those emotions with finality. what he thinks, what happened to him - in the grand scheme of things, it's not worth considering. he is not worth considering.
he only opens his hands because he doesn't want flayn to worry, and lets his fingers touch hers, briefly, eyes still cast downwards. he doesn't deserve her kindness, but she shouldn't have to make that face because of him. ]
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what good is being kind, if she can't help - really help - someone she cares about when he so clearly needs it? bottling up how he's feeling isn't a solution, either. taking each of his hurts and keeping them so close to himself can only hurt him more.
but if he doesn't want to talk about it...
his fingers touch hers, and without thinking, she shifts her hands to catch his, to lace their fingers together. it doesn't comfort her much, and perhaps it doesn't comfort him, either; perhaps he's simply given up on trying to outrun her, and is going to allow her to do as she pleases, regardless of whether it does him any good at all.
she ducks his head, as he does, so that he cannot see the look on her face, either. he's the one suffering, here. he's the one convinced of his own guilt and shame and worthlessness, so why is she the one crying? these tears ought to be his. he ought to be able to let them out and set the guilt free.
but he won't.
so she cries, and maybe it's a foolish thought to think that these are the tears he won't allow himself to shed.]
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yin yu would have to be an idiot not to notice. his heart seizes up and drops into his stomach, a boulder somewhere between worry and guilt all at once. he's seen flayn cry once before, and panicked over it then, as much as he is now -- except now it's worse, because he's the one who caused it.
he's at a loss for what to do, for the moment. hands against hers, fingers laced together, he doesn't peek under where her head is down, doesn't surge forward, but -- he doesn't let go, either. and, after a long moment of what's only awkward and uncomfortable and (useless, he's so bad at this, he is so bad) -- his hands slowly squeeze hers. ]
Lady Flayn. [ he says, quietly, squeezing a little tighter, his voice heavy with emotion--yin yu's heart hurts. it hurts for flayn, more than it could ever even begin to hurt for himself. being able to shut off his emotions is his lifeline in the worst of times and the best, and he has never wanted to trouble anyone with his own sad story. to think that not only she saw it, but it upset her, is...
there's a part of him that wants to move forward to do...something, but he can't find the courage, nor does he think he deserves to do so. he knows he shouldn't stare, either, feeling more useless than ever, still teetering on the edge of what had been a fairly disastrous mental breakdown and pulling himself back from the edge. so, he doesn't act in such a way: instead, yin yu frees one of his hands, but just for long enough to find the edge of one of his pouches and pull it open. there's a few scraps of cloth instead, and they're the tie-dyed remains of the sleeves of his camp shirt, but it's as good of a handkerchief as any. ] ...please don't cry.
[ and he means it, sincerely, the concern for her bleeding through above anything else, as he moves to gently press it to the palm of her hand. there's nothing about his story that is worth her tears. ]
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[she didn't want him to see. she squeezes his hands in return, though, until he loosens his hold on one of them and presses a scrap of cloth into it instead. her fingers curl around it, and though she keeps one of her hands in his, she brings the makeshift handkerchief up in an attempt to dry her eyes.
he's the one left reeling from that memory - how can he be comforting her now? she's always relying on him, and it feels like she's never able to be someone that he can truly rely on in return.
(if he felt he could rely on her, he wouldn't have run. it's not a fair thought, but it's a thought she can't shake.)]
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he can't leave her here crying, though. even if he still wants to run, he stays, letting her hold his hand, because flayn's assessment was correct. yin yu has given up on many things. right now, he's given up on trying to get away, shoving his feelings down to not be dealt with later. he'll let flayn do whatever she wants, if it helps, try to say anything to get her to stop crying, to make her feel better, but, ultimately, it will do nothing for him.
it's been hundreds of years since the incident with yizhen. there is no undoing centuries of self loathing, centuries of guilt. this will be it--he will comfort, and tomorrow, he will try to stay out of her way.
quietly, he lets his other hand drop away, and doesn't say anything else.
yin yu doesn't deserve to be anywhere close to someone like flayn. he's thought it since he got to know her.
the only difference is now, finally, she'll know it too. ]
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flayn doesn't realize, yet, just how much it's going to suck. right now, the one hand that yin yu is allowing her to keep holding is a lifeline - she's able to start to calm herself, to wipe the tears away from her eyes, but only because he hasn't fully pulled away.
when that happens...
for now, though, she'll allow herself these few moments with his hand in hers, desperately trying to come up with something to comfort him. she comes up with nothing, except to try and stay near him, but.
that seems like it's more of a comfort to her than to him.
she doesn't know what to do. she just has no idea what to do, so she sits there with him, holding tightly to his hand.]