THE CONSERVATORY

Those days, he finds himself sorting through all the memories of him, digging up whatever is left of him and wearing it like a second skin across his psyche, all to make it through public affairs. Meetings are met with insincere diligence and cordiality. Interactions with subjects and members of the imperial court are much the same. Even after all of it, he can’t muster up the energy to peel it back off and store it away.

Those days, he keeps to the quieter parts of the palace, walking alone along the halls between meals and appearances, wearing the true princes heavy robes and identity both. He sees his reflection and flinches every time.

Those days, he’s unable to face the place they left his memory. And he feels shame for being unable to let him rest. For wearing him like a costume when he’s too scared to let him go, or when he’s too scared to be just Greed.

But those days are still different than they used to be.

“Greed.”

The hand on his face stiffens. He knows that tone. He can’t bring himself to look at her. Scanning the room for something else to look at, he settles on a tree out the window—flowering plum, he remembers—that rests on a low hill in the imperial garden. It’s not the season for them to flower yet, but there are sparse smatterings of purple hidden among the leaves. The colors start to blur together as he lets the world go unfocused.

Her footsteps get louder behind him until he feels a hand on his wrist, tugging gently. Greed knows what she’s doing. They do this at least twice every few months. It’s become a sort of routine. He doesn’t move. He’s hardly listening.

“Up. Now,” Lan Fan says. “You need a change of scenery.”

He closes his eyes, exhaling a steady breath. The voice that comes out is too airy to sound like anyone’s but his. “I have duties to attend to.”

Theres a shift in her breathing. He sees her in his periphery, twisting her head away. He can imagine the way her face is scrunched up with disdain. He can imagine the way she’s about to storm out of the room. A self-deprecating grin cracks on his face.

But she doesn’t move. “They can wait.”

The grin falters. This time, when she tugs on his wrist, he hardly resists. Rising out of his chair, he allows himself to be all but dragged down the halls. Though he doesn’t pay attention to where they’re going, a distant part of him knows. They go every time. He’s started to remember the exact path.

Lan Fan moves swiftly, even with him in tow, so it doesn’t take long before her hand falls away from his wrist. Overhead, the branches of the same flowering plum he’d been staring at before sprawl out overhead, afternoon sun turning green as it filters through the leaves. He realizes now that he must have been looking at it because subconsciously, he knew he’d be standing beneath it shortly. Something burns inside. What an embarrassment.

The two of them know this song and dance well. They back up to the trunk and in unison lower themselves to sit in the grass. A soft breeze moves every blade of grass and leaf to its will. He watches a loose leaf twirl in the air on its way down. Greed wishes the same could be done with people. Some days, pretending to be someone who’s gone gets to him more than he’d care to admit.

They sit in silence for a while. The fresh outside air gets time to permeate their lungs. The air is crisper than usual with the approaching fall. He cranes his head upward. This tree will be bare soon.

“You’re foolish to still believe I would let you shoulder it alone,” Lan Fan finally says.

Greed twists his head again to look at her, then away. He huffs a breath. Fidgets absently with the thick sleeve of his robe. He can tell that her eyes linger on him without having to look.

“..Yeah,” he mumbles.

“You are aware, if Mei were in my place, she would think the same.”

“…I know.”

“We all share in—“ Her voice catches. She takes a deep breath. “We all share in his loss.”

Greed dips his head, pulling his knees into his chest. He feels stupid. All of this, he already knows, but he keeps having to hear it. At least, it sticks a little more, every time. At least he resists a little less every time she drags him out here. Every time he understands more and more why Ling put so much of his faith in her. He can’t help but do the same.

He doesn’t move when he hears her scoot closer to him, and he isn’t surprised when he feels her arms close around him. It still tugs at something in him, though.

Greed joins her embrace, his hands closing tight around her where they lay. Liquid grief builds in his eyes, so he forces them closed, then presses them into her shoulder.