Jing Yuan reminiscing over Dan Heng’s presence and existence (what I imagine his thoughts to be during 1.2)
He almost hesitates to believe it. Almost.
His bones feel the wear of his age, perhaps for the first time in eons. Wearier even than when Blade strudded into his life once more, his hands bound and teeth bearing sharp. He hates to think of it, hates to think of how… how close he is.
Dan Heng.
A nameless.
In his territory, a place he once vowed never to return to. By his word, when the last of it was scorn– centuries ago. Jing Yuan knew he was roaming the universe, knew he had an existence far encompassing what he had with the Luofhu.
But a nameless?
He had not expected that.
Jing Yuan still remembers the wrath, the all-encompassing rage, as he was forcibly knelt before his seat. He remembers the eyes, full of unsaid words and unshed tears. He remembers… he remembers still, the incessant thump in his ribcage as his mind deciphered what was then a mystery worthy of treason. Remembers– the breath absent from his lungs as his mind raged with the thought of his name— It was Dan Heng.
The morning they shared, on that day, as if a memory latched to the very atoms of his body, he remembers—
(Jing Yuan wakes with the sun, much as he despises to do so. But he wakes too, with his bare skin littered with hair of black and green, horns poking beneath his cheek.
It is a sight, a feeling, and the part of the morn that is an antithesis to his day.
It is calm. “You have finally risen… day by the day it seems to take longer to wake you, General.”
He exhales a chuckle, all breath and all chest, “It is only because I am more… efficient, in resolving the ails of our world in my sleep, my love.” Jing Yuan leans down, speaking on Dan Heng’s head, leaving a short peck on its top-most part.
“If that is the lie you tell yourself, then so be it. Yet, your… followers, are still waiting for you.” he says the last words with such distaste, as if the thought of his sharing ails his very soul. Jing Yuan lets out another chuckle, even heavier and ladden with sleep.
“Let us stay for a while longer, let at least some part of my day not be equipped by a traitor to the Xianzhou Luofu, and instead its warrior, hmm?” Jing Yuan speaks, embracing Dan Heng even tighter in the arms. Under his breath, he hears Dan Heng mutter, muttering he elects to not hear; deciding to ignore any further complaints from his lover.)
Much later, he will realize the words he spoke were like acid– for he was holding the grievest traitor ever known to their world in his arms, in their bare mornings of calm and complainant nights of worry.
He had looked at Dan Heng in the eyes, and believed him. He had… Jing Yuan had looked him in the eyes, and seen the hurt. He had wanted to hold Dan Heng, to assure him of his safety, of his love in its all eternality.
But he spoke then, and he shall speak again now– of the banished traitor, of the punishment for crimes committed baselesly. Thus he lives then, now, and in every moment between now and then: with scorn, hatred, and wrath in the last memories of Dan Heng in his mind.
Though in his very soul, he seeks to remember only the Dan Heng that loved him once.
Jing Yuan has always been too… soft. He has not the strength of heart to taint the memory of his soul with this Dan Heng. The present Dan Heng, who knows not of the ails of the past centuries, who knows not of the love still harbored in his heart.