#spiritsworn

dominance | not accepting

Morning brought a crispness to the air. Lee Sin let it in through open windows that allowed for the passage of invigorating breezes and the cheerful chirps of birds, the scent of dew on the grass he could tell was a bright green despite not being able to see the colors of the world any longer. The sensations pushed relaxed breaths from him, before one of those breaths was sucked in with the effort it took to sit himself up from his bed. 

A scarred hand tapped against a modest bedside table, and fingers enclosed around a small vial. Tipping his head back, the monk dripped the liquid within into each milky eye twice, and the blinking that followed brought relief to those dry and tired eyes. As per habit, his hand searched for the next item on that table, only to pause when it did not rest in its usual position. Fingers splayed out on the wood, his heart picking up just so while he searched. 

And quick was he to calm when the familiar fabric was felt over his eyes once again. A careful draping before it tightened, and Lee Sin was often in awe at how gentle those strong hands could be–hands that could wield swords to cut men in half could just the same so gingerly wrap the monk’s red blindfold around his unseeing eyes… and just as quietly swipe it right under the very attentive monk’s nose.  

situate, react | accepting

A satisfying burn tickled the back of Lee Sin’s throat as he took a long and careful inhale. He held that breath, letting the smoke rest within his lungs as he courteously wiped off the mouthpiece of the hookah with the fabric on his pants before he held it out to his companion. The smoke left both his mouth and his nose as he tilted his head up towards the night sky--as if he could gaze upon those stars just like the man next to him. 

The mouthpiece was offered in invitation, thought not after a comment was made about the view. Lee tried to hide his smirk. 

“Indeed. The stars are very clear tonight. Beautiful.”

It was not the cadence of a familiar voice that had broken Shen from his afternoon meditation, but rather the melodic twinkling of old, hollow steel tubes bumping faintly against one another. The sound of a wind chime being lifted from where it had lain against cool stone, singing its song sporadically as it was hung out in the way of the faint summer breeze.

It had become an uncharacteristically visceral noise in Shen’s own mind. One that pleaded him for an equally as visceral reaction.

His eyes snapped open, shoulders tensing as one hand slid from where it rested against his knee to reach for the sheathed sword lying in the grass by his side, but Shen hesitated just before his fingertips brushed the scabbard. He knew the man who spoke, knew the lax tone often carried in that voice. Shen lifted his gaze up towards his guest, the fit outline of Lee’s body greeting his eyes. The monk’s form cast a shadow against Shen’s own from where he stood, sunlight shining faintly off of the silhouette of warmed skin.

As much as he wanted to, he could not bring himself to ask for the chime to be set down.

“Lee…”

The sound of the will to fight was loud in Lee Sin’s ears as the Eye of Twilight startled. It was a sad thing, how the soothing sounds of wind chimes could spark fear in such a good man--how the gentle ringing between the metal had become an alarm rather than a pleasantry. 

Lee’s hands found Shen’s shoulders, and he eased the tension out of tight muscles with slow and firm motions of his scarred fingers. A small smile graced his partially concealed face, once he knew that Shen was looking up at him. The man once told him how his eyes were lavender, blessed with great magic, and the thought was always pleasing to the monk. What a gentle color for a man capable of so much. 

“Rest easy, my friend. You feel like you could use it.” 

He paused, and a laugh escaped him.

                There was only one eye of judgement Yone feared when he found himself pulled back to the physical realm, and that was the Eye of Twilight. What would Shen think of him now? Shen was a man he had known in life, who he had taken comfort and solace in, who Yone had found himself quietly in love with into their adulthood. Would Shen see him as something not meant to be in this world? Would his duty demand he expel his soul? Could he stand to look at him, to look at the abomination he had become? 

                All those fears and more melted away as soon as the soft light of Shen’s eyes met his own, his worry slipping away from him as easily as water washing over a smooth stone. Shen’s gentle, warm voice greeted his, and it nearly makes Yone melt, leaves him aching to press into the other man, to hold him, feel him, remind himself that he is indeed alive and breathing, that Shen is not some fragment of his wishes and hopes tormenting his lonely heart. His gentle, warm hand comes to rest on his shoulder and yes, this is real, this is not a dream meant to pull his old pining love to the surface. 

                Yone’s hands raise to frame both sides of Shen’s face, his cool, nimble hands gently cupping his strong jaw with his bandaged thumbs softly stroking the skin of his cheeks. The weight of this moment settles firmly but lovingly around him, the full realization of this being reality nearly has Yone pushed to tears, but he swallows the impulse down, even when he hears Shen call him his love. Oh, how those words make his heart tremble in his chest.