#wanshangs

[decthless]

closed starter for @wanshangs

"Dìdi, go—let go! Get out!" he'd pleaded with broken urgency, begged until his voice cracked to no avail, until so much smoke had infiltrated his lungs he could do nothing but cough, and cough, and spill out blood from his lungs, the words like trying to claw out of his sore throat, his sight abandoning him as his voice eroded, dissipating in a cacophony of screams that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. He begged him to just go, and lied shamelessly he'd be right behind him—but the last thing he felt was Lian's arm around him, dragging his half-collapsing, crawling body from under the white oak as the tree and the memories within were consumed in a blazing inferno. His heart was pounding in his ears as he tried to push him and found that all of his accursed strength had left him the one time he wished it didn't, and then... it was dark.

It dark still when as he jolted awake, and his pale eyelids lifted, but no light seeped in; in a panic, despair swelled in his throat, the softness underneath him offering no comfort as he moved and turned hastily, knocking things to the ground—"Lian—!" his voice was hoarse and fractured, all composure was lost to the flames as his hands grabbed blindly, latching to his face with shaky hands.

[decthless]

closed starter for @wanshangs

A sing-songy whine swells in the room like a birdsong, calling for him as his body already melts in the shape of his brother's back, silk dripping down his back, his long, unbound hair cascading down the arch of his shoulders, spilling smoothly, cool like spilled milk, and as he pours himself down onto him in his weariness, offering his pitiful body some much needed reprieve from the night, his wishbone arms reach towards him, slithering languidly atop his brothers strong shoulders to ensnare.

"Hyeong, hyeong..." the jagged ends of his nails seek to ensnare, cupping his strong but delicate jaw from underneath like a prized possession—he lifts that cherished, gloomy face by nudging insistently when he cannot win by force alone, demanding attention in a way that was neither subtle nor shy. "Such a pretty face, frowning like that..." cue a pout; he's teasing, testing his patience, as he does, his own brand of love that always seems to come wrapped in childish infatuation. "You'll get wrinkles... and who will love you then, besides me?"

[decthless]

closed starter for @wanshangs

The night had been long and already taken something of a toll on his body, and so if he must indulge in this foolishness, he refuses to do standing. Lord Baeksa waited for his companion lying under a tree, pale moonlight filtering through the red leaves, basking them in a ghastly, unearthly glow; the rough surface of the trunk catches on the soft layers of his clothes as he leans against it, playing with a lock of his hair, sprawled lazily atop the grass.

A crunching of leaves and twigs announces the late arrival, and the pressure of his shoulders leaves with a sigh. "...Ah, finally," he exhales, as if weary, those heavy-lashed eyes immediately finding the boy, which he has not yet decided how to toy with. "There you are... you've kept me waiting," it's a demand and an accusation, delivered with a cushioned blow as he pats the ground beside him. "Sit..." it's a silky soft invitation, and yet it feels much like an owner commanding a hound, and he does not expect to be refused; after all, they must rely on each other, begrudgingly or not. "Troublesome as you are... I thought you'd be taller."