"Why would I care about them? Have they ever cared about me?" (Mu Qing to Hua Lian)
meme got lost in that fucking lava stream in mount tonglu | @divinity-shackled
Hua Lian doesn't know how he does it.
Or how he survives the constant barrage of negative consequences he's inflicted with every time he does... it.
Being this painfully earnest, that is.
There is not a bone in Hua Lian's body at this point that wouldn't shrivel and turn into dust as painfully as possible as it rotted the flesh off itself into Hua Lian's stomach at the mere idea of being this honest, about others, about himself. Not any more, at least. At one point he might have buried himself with less self-awareness, tentatively scratched at the bars of his cages and wondered what it'll look like once he's out.
Nowadays he holds onto the bars as a way to separate himself from the trouble outside, becomes the beast that is afraid of what it doesn't know and couldn't shed its chains if it wanted. Calls them a shield and wields them as weapons, holds himself back and calls it strategic.
Mu Qing isn't like that. Mu Qing is thrown to the ground and stomped on routinely, punished for doing things so many others would have done in his stead, and punished for all those times he tries to stray far from that walked on path and actually try to be earnest to the benefit of someone else.
There are more footprints on Mu Qing's back at this rate than there are in vandalised temples of abandoned gods. At least those fade after a while as the ruins and deities fade ahead of them. The ones on Mu Qing's back as startling clear to Hua Lian, still.
He watches that very same back. It's unlike Mu Qing to hide. Unfortunately. Hua Lian wouldn't mind if he hid some more every now and then. It would likely starkly clash with both Mu Qing's pride and his sense of righteousness, but would it be that grand a shame for him to simply turn the other way when his attention is demanded?
He can't fault him for what he says.
Hua Lian sits there, once again having made himself a guest in Mu Qing's palace while dutifully pretending he hasn't visited more often than he's not, one leg crossed over the other as he nurses steaming tea with one hand and barely cares about the other end of the scroll resting on his knee hitting the floor and dragging along it.
It could catch fire for all he cared, honestly.
The scroll only mentions Mu Qing - Xuan Zhen - in passing. It hadn't been reason enough to seek him out, but he was running out of excuses. If he were as self-aware as he claimed to be, he'd soon notice that he'll stop using excuses all together to breeze by Mu Qing and linger in his spaces. Drawn by whatever it is that tied them together once upon a time, perhaps the sterness of his face or the roll of his eyes.
To be charmed by a selection of facial expressions that distasted shouldn't bode well for an assessment of the state of his mind. But there's safety and familiarity in the way Mu Qing refuses to indulge with smiles he doesn't mean.
Unlike someone else that refuses to meet his eyes whenever he looks into his reflection, he doesn't appreciate them much.
There's familiarity in his back, too. In the defensiveness of his stance. Strong, capable, reliable, quick to grasp minute changes, sitting on them carefully, biting them on top of the tongue he always seems to chew on. It's unreasonable to look at someone like Mu Qing and see anything but the greatness he presents.
Entirely homegrown. Crafted with his own hands. Hua Lian's gaze travels to watch those fingers next. What can't they do, hm? Who's ever held them?
Has he been the only one?
He doesn't throw the scroll aside because he doesn't want the sound to echo, but there's a twist to his wrist as he abandons it that suggests he wouldn't care if it rolled away and got lost forever. He approaches Mu Qing with none of the grace of a soldier. His movements resemble actors more than they ever will someone like Mu Qing. There's something scrappy to both of them, it simply looked drastically different.
You do care, though, Hua Lian feels like arguing. He loathes the idea of challenging Mu Qing's perception. It is not a challenge he desires to issue. It's something he would like to point merely because he wishes for a day in which Mu Qing's bitter questioning led to a change of habit.
Hua Lian circles him until he's standing in front of him. His hands are clasped behind him. They're out of sight. Hidden away like his intentions usually are. When they'd first met, he'd found Mu Qing unbelievably pretty. A beauty so rare he'd often wondered how stupid a people must be to not elevate him for that alone.
The cut of his eyes, the colour of his skin, how easily it shifts with the heart he has constantly bleeding on his sleeve, for anyone who cared to see.
But he was right. No one ever did care about him, now, did they? Or rather, they'd rather cared in a way that adjusted Mu Qing into a light and position convenient to them. Who had cared enough to ever... ask?
Had Hua Lian ever asked? Didn't he leave, too? He'd loved to have argued he left as Mu Qing eventually did, choosing himself and a more reasonable path over whatever happened around the crown prince, choosing the certain way to safety and survival. But hadn't he left, too?
You shouldn't care about them, Hua Lian wants to argue. But the words don't quite make it past his lips. He worries he might follow it up with a request to be cared about instead. Wouldn't that be selfish? To ask to be the one Mu Qing might make an exception for?
We cared about each other at one point, right?
There's a stillness to his words. No honey, no lace, no silk, no velvet. He doesn't smile, not when he lifts a hand, not when the tips of his fingers grace over Mu Qing's cheek and admire the contrast of their complexions. He retracts his hand, shoves it into his sleeve, matches the other, and swallows.
"You shouldn't," he repeats, quieter, jutting his chin and relaxing it moments after, as if he can't quite figure out what it is he wants to suggest, what it is he wants to emote. He turns his head away, talks to a wall. When has he ever willingly brought up their past?
"When we served his highness, we used to..." he takes a deep breath, tries to relax his features.
"Whatever you decide, I find... You will likely be right. I'll probably agree."
