[ fei du is more like a marionette than a person, at the moment, all gangly limbs and dissociated but he goes wherever shenhe wants him to go. there's not much reaction to anything, not the touch, even though his thoughts crumble together at it, like a car trying to restart, and she's allowed to take his glasses off.
it's the illogical choice of it all. it's the fact that there's still a team with three people walking around, selfishly. it's the fact that he was supposed to be safe. even more cruelly, it's a reminder - it's a reminder of the same lesson he was beaten with last week, that every sacrificial chess move never guarantees anything, that fei du's deal with froggystyle on his deathbed was irrelevant in the end, because luo wenzhou is dead. it's the fact that luo wenzhou is a force of irreparable good, and even if the loss is temporary, even if he'll see him on sunday, it doesn't change the fact that someone did it anyway.
someone did it anyway. thoughtshare is bad, but emotionshare would be worse, because he's an abyss of grief and despair and fury and a thousand other things all at once, rotting off a piece of his broken, ruined heart and letting it shatter. he's so tired. he's so angry. he's so -
you can cry, shenhe says. fei du almost laughs. the noise is wet, and tiny, and miserable, and he wants to say i don't know how to, because the idea is ridiculous, but there are tears streaming down his face already and he just shudders and turns his face away from the light, curling up on himself. ]
He wasn't supposed to. [ die. he wasn't supposed to die. ]
[she takes his glasses off, then, and very carefully puts them aside for now.
when he curls, she brings a hand up and runs it through his hair, rhythmically. he can cry, he can just - he can do whatever he wants, as long as it isn't trying to hurt himself. it makes her feel sick to think about him trying to electrocute himself, the way looking at blood makes him want to throw up. she's trying not to think about it, to relate to the palm on his chest the way she dig her ice-coated nails into her own skin, years and years ago.]
He wasn't. [she agrees, closing her eyes.] But he did. And now you have to exist with that.
[there is no other choice, as much as she wishes there was.]
I wrote Jonas a letter. [she says, voice quiet.] I told him that I was forced to forgive much faster than I would have liked. And you might also have to do that. I'm sorry. I don't want that for you.
But he will be here on Sunday. [I wish it had been Nahri.] I will stay with you until then, so that if you need to hurt someone, you hurt me.
fei du has always been grieving. sometimes, he lives in a villa that's been reconstructed like a mausoleum, every detail perfectly reflected as it was the day he opened his bedroom door and saw his mother's corpse, like a reminder, from artificial flowers to an ashtray even though he doesn't smoke.
he is always just existing with it, and he'll exist with this, too. fei du will hold onto this for the rest of his life, even if it's temporary, even though he knows he'll see wenzhou on sunday. it's going to rot him from the inside out, and he won't tell a single soul about it, either. forgiveness is one thing - he'll have to fight with himself over it but ultimately, his own sense of right and wrong is strong enough he will keep himself from being cruel if it takes hurting himself to do it, but he keeps that to himself, too, even if his fragmented thoughts spike a little at the idea.
still. fei du listens to shenhe when she talks. he's not sobbing, or anything - the tears keep coming, and he's still shaking, his thin shoulders violently shuddering every now and then, but he's silent, and still, the complicated and miserable static of his thoughts making him hard to read. they don't loosen until she finishes, and he thinks, this time - no, but it's a different kind, violent in the opposite direction, stunned. no. no, he can't, he wouldn't.
a hand lifts, finally, and curls tight in the back of her clothes. no. he can't say he wishes it was nahri too - he thinks about her letter, about the weight she must be feeling right now with wenzhou and wolfwood both dead, and shivers, holding on. ]
... I won't. [ hurt you. it's quiet, wrung out and miserable. ]
[she's surrounded by stubborn men who won't let her help them every day of her life
when he holds onto her, finally, she presses her nose against his hair and holds him a little more tightly. the distant sort of jumbled thoughts he's having are hard to read and she can't quite make sense of them, but she gets the general gist. that he's going to rot, and not let himself heal. that he's going to take responsibility for something that he didn't do. that he won't hurt her, but he'll hurt himself.
there's frustration in her, her own thoughts a mess of anger and staticky bad, but she doesn't voice them. it's hard, when you have such a different view of death. but she stays where she is.]
Then don't. But if you hurt yourself, I will tie you to a chair and drag you around behind me. [...] I care about you and it upsets me when you forget that.
[ yeah its funny when he says things like "haha death doesn't matter" (turns around and violently grieves for a decade) sometimes you are so good at larp
the threat gets a little bit of a reaction. a wet, miserable laugh, a twitch in his shoulders. okay. that sounds fine. actually, that sounds kind of nice. he wants to be knocked out so he doesn't hurt anyone. he wants to get violently drunk and sleep and pretend this is a dream. he'd tie himself up, too. god knows he does it willingly.
the bad thoughts cycle continues, but it dissolves out mostly, staticky and quiet, a low hum accompanied by discordant violin, and he shudders, one last time. it feels like he's going to be sick.
but he lets shenhe's words try and stick, try and melt into his chest and stay. ]
... I know. [ it's a little hoarse, this time. heavy. the tears have finally stopped, like a leaky, broken faucet. ] I know.
[ and it's echoed, there, in his thoughts.
... ]
... I need... I need you to stay. [ he'll admit that much. a stumble, in the right direction towards care. ] With me. Tomorrow. If -
[ clarity, then. a thought like a light in the darkness of his own despair. If someone says something about this or calls it karma, I will hurt them.
a hand, shakily reaching out for help in the dark. ]
[she says, without hesitation. she closes her eyes.]
I will stay with you. And I will do my best to make sure you don't hurt anybody. But I believe you won't.
[and she means that - she'll be with him for as long as he needs her. he's earned that loyalty. she'll stay now, too, in this hotel room, rocking him gently, letting you raise me up drift through her thoughts as she does.
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no subject
it's the illogical choice of it all. it's the fact that there's still a team with three people walking around, selfishly. it's the fact that he was supposed to be safe. even more cruelly, it's a reminder - it's a reminder of the same lesson he was beaten with last week, that every sacrificial chess move never guarantees anything, that fei du's deal with froggystyle on his deathbed was irrelevant in the end, because luo wenzhou is dead. it's the fact that luo wenzhou is a force of irreparable good, and even if the loss is temporary, even if he'll see him on sunday, it doesn't change the fact that someone did it anyway.
someone did it anyway. thoughtshare is bad, but emotionshare would be worse, because he's an abyss of grief and despair and fury and a thousand other things all at once, rotting off a piece of his broken, ruined heart and letting it shatter. he's so tired. he's so angry. he's so -
you can cry, shenhe says. fei du almost laughs. the noise is wet, and tiny, and miserable, and he wants to say i don't know how to, because the idea is ridiculous, but there are tears streaming down his face already and he just shudders and turns his face away from the light, curling up on himself. ]
He wasn't supposed to. [ die. he wasn't supposed to die. ]
no subject
when he curls, she brings a hand up and runs it through his hair, rhythmically. he can cry, he can just - he can do whatever he wants, as long as it isn't trying to hurt himself. it makes her feel sick to think about him trying to electrocute himself, the way looking at blood makes him want to throw up. she's trying not to think about it, to relate to the palm on his chest the way she dig her ice-coated nails into her own skin, years and years ago.]
He wasn't. [she agrees, closing her eyes.] But he did. And now you have to exist with that.
[there is no other choice, as much as she wishes there was.]
I wrote Jonas a letter. [she says, voice quiet.] I told him that I was forced to forgive much faster than I would have liked. And you might also have to do that. I'm sorry. I don't want that for you.
But he will be here on Sunday. [I wish it had been Nahri.] I will stay with you until then, so that if you need to hurt someone, you hurt me.
no subject
fei du has always been grieving. sometimes, he lives in a villa that's been reconstructed like a mausoleum, every detail perfectly reflected as it was the day he opened his bedroom door and saw his mother's corpse, like a reminder, from artificial flowers to an ashtray even though he doesn't smoke.
he is always just existing with it, and he'll exist with this, too. fei du will hold onto this for the rest of his life, even if it's temporary, even though he knows he'll see wenzhou on sunday. it's going to rot him from the inside out, and he won't tell a single soul about it, either. forgiveness is one thing - he'll have to fight with himself over it but ultimately, his own sense of right and wrong is strong enough he will keep himself from being cruel if it takes hurting himself to do it, but he keeps that to himself, too, even if his fragmented thoughts spike a little at the idea.
still. fei du listens to shenhe when she talks. he's not sobbing, or anything - the tears keep coming, and he's still shaking, his thin shoulders violently shuddering every now and then, but he's silent, and still, the complicated and miserable static of his thoughts making him hard to read. they don't loosen until she finishes, and he thinks, this time - no, but it's a different kind, violent in the opposite direction, stunned. no. no, he can't, he wouldn't.
a hand lifts, finally, and curls tight in the back of her clothes. no. he can't say he wishes it was nahri too - he thinks about her letter, about the weight she must be feeling right now with wenzhou and wolfwood both dead, and shivers, holding on. ]
... I won't. [ hurt you. it's quiet, wrung out and miserable. ]
no subject
when he holds onto her, finally, she presses her nose against his hair and holds him a little more tightly. the distant sort of jumbled thoughts he's having are hard to read and she can't quite make sense of them, but she gets the general gist. that he's going to rot, and not let himself heal. that he's going to take responsibility for something that he didn't do. that he won't hurt her, but he'll hurt himself.
there's frustration in her, her own thoughts a mess of anger and staticky bad, but she doesn't voice them. it's hard, when you have such a different view of death. but she stays where she is.]
Then don't. But if you hurt yourself, I will tie you to a chair and drag you around behind me. [...] I care about you and it upsets me when you forget that.
no subject
the threat gets a little bit of a reaction. a wet, miserable laugh, a twitch in his shoulders. okay. that sounds fine. actually, that sounds kind of nice. he wants to be knocked out so he doesn't hurt anyone. he wants to get violently drunk and sleep and pretend this is a dream. he'd tie himself up, too. god knows he does it willingly.
the bad thoughts cycle continues, but it dissolves out mostly, staticky and quiet, a low hum accompanied by discordant violin, and he shudders, one last time. it feels like he's going to be sick.
but he lets shenhe's words try and stick, try and melt into his chest and stay. ]
... I know. [ it's a little hoarse, this time. heavy. the tears have finally stopped, like a leaky, broken faucet. ] I know.
[ and it's echoed, there, in his thoughts.
... ]
... I need... I need you to stay. [ he'll admit that much. a stumble, in the right direction towards care. ] With me. Tomorrow. If -
[ clarity, then. a thought like a light in the darkness of his own despair. If someone says something about this or calls it karma, I will hurt them.
a hand, shakily reaching out for help in the dark. ]
no subject
[she says, without hesitation. she closes her eyes.]
I will stay with you. And I will do my best to make sure you don't hurt anybody. But I believe you won't.
[and she means that - she'll be with him for as long as he needs her. he's earned that loyalty. she'll stay now, too, in this hotel room, rocking him gently, letting you raise me up drift through her thoughts as she does.
they can face the world tomorrow.]