until death.
hari bulkan, zhao residence; ft. @tamedflame
chanyul comes to him in the afternoon, after jiyu’s gone through his forms and met with his superiors. he’s doing well considering the circumstances, which really isn’t saying much. back on his feet and back to work, or what he can do of it anyway; jiyu’s not a man made to sit still and wait for the future. he gets impatient when he calms himself to meditate, lets his thought wander in prayer - it should be expected that he wouldn’t take this opportunity to rest.
his friend finds him at the desk in his rooms, one foot drawn up to rest on the chair and his chin pillowed on his knee. in front of him is a book, old enough that he’s worried about it falling apart with his touch. jiyu likes to read, but he seldom is in the right mood for it, and he’s not combing through the pages for pleasure, either. there’s a method to it: he truns them efficiently, scans the contents for any mention of his affliction. it’s useless, but he feels better with purpose than without.
if he had expected company, he might’ve had the servants prepare refreshments, and otherwise dressed more presentable. but chanyul’s seen him looking worse countless of times, and jiyu can’t deny that he’s grateful for the distraction. when he looks up and nods at chanyul, much more informal than he really should act with a child of the crown, bordering on disrespect - jiyu can’t find it in himself to care.
“your grace.” there’s nothing to gain here; he closes the book. stands, belatedly, and bows, and then ends up drumming his fingertips against the table. he’s been feeling so restless lately. “i hear you’re looking to marry?”